Eric Sable Basking in Shadow
by Steven Cooper
Summary: Eric's fourth year at Hogwarts is noted by a strong effort to remain unnoticed while The Boy Who Lived makes a bigger scene than ever.
1. Chapter 1

Eric returned to London with a sigh of relief. Soon, he'd be back to carpentry; making cabinets, tables, and chairs in a continuing effort to finance his education. Midget and Widget clicked anxiously in their cages. He released them to wander about. They'd find their way to him eventually. Meanwhile, the time flying would do them wonders. Besides, then he wouldn't draw any more attention to himself than his appearance already did.

His dress was most unusual. It was a fairly warm day, which was a sharp contrast to his long, dark coat. The coat was necessary, however, to hide his waist-length hair. It was occasionally annoying, but Eric found that he really enjoyed being unique in the world. His mane made his appearance that much more unusual. However, it was important not to draw too much attention to himself, though; he was a wizard, after all, and for the good of everyone wizards had to keep their world a secret.

Roger and Dorothy Wainwright were waiting for their daughter. Naomi was one of Eric's best friends, and because of that they were surprised when he turned down a ride back to Diagon Alley. But Eric had never taken an opportunity to actually explore London, and he didn't want to miss the opportunity. Obtaining a map, he took down detailed instructions of which roads to take and which corners to turn on. However, it was late in the day, so he went back to Platform 9-3/4 to find a bench to rest on until the next morning.

Checking in with the porters, Eric was given a couple of blankets. The benches weren't padded, but were comfortable enough for an evening's rest. As he settled in, though, he noticed a dark figure on the opposite platform. Straining to see, his efforts were frustrated by the Hogwarts Express as it vented off steam, shutting down for the evening. Eric strained through the varying cloud, but whoever he had seen had vanished.

He shrugged it off. This was the wizarding world – dark figures come and go on a regular basis. It would be foolish of him to be unnerved when such things happen. He pulled the blanket over his shoulder and settled in; the hissing of the Hogwarts Express providing an even noise to cover the goings on outside of the wizard's platform.

The next morning found Eric rested, if a bit sore. The station had gotten chilly in the evening, and the chill had cramped his muscles. It took several minutes of stretching to straighten the joints out, after which he stopped by the ticket window, exchanging galleons for British Pounds and taking in a five minute lecture on the finer points of how to use muggle money.

It was simple enough – money for goods and services much the same as wizards do, only the coins are smaller, and for some reason paper was more valuable than metal. It didn't matter, though; the food he bought with it was still good, and it was warm. Enough life was back in his limbs to brave the walk home. However, first he drew out a small crystal and hung it about his neck.

An image of his mother sprang to life before him. "Hello dear! What are we up to today?"

Eric smiled to her. "We're walking home from Kings Cross – straight through Muggle London. Want to come along?"

Evelyn was delighted that Eric had proved so thoughtful, and cheerfully wandered about as he made his way towards the exit. "I wonder how much has changed since I last saw London. Are you really planning to walk all the way to Diagon Alley? There will be so much I've never seen before!" She was extremely curious for a remnant memory – perhaps because she was trapped that way, unable to explore for herself. Eric did all he could to humor her; stopping by this oddity or that, examining it closely so that she could view it in detail.

London was a wondrous place. True, he had been out once in a while to visit the Ministry or to ride from Diagon Alley to Kings Cross, but that was very different from actually walking among the muggles. The first thing Eric was aware of was the noise. There was always something coming from somewhere, and it took him several minutes to figure out what constituted a threat and what didn't. In fact, most was just the sounds of the machines around him, heading this way or that.

Taking a few minutes to watch the muggles passing about, he noticed that they tended to look about far more than listen. Doing likewise revealed the answer; there were signs everywhere, flashing and changing minute by minute. Taking time to observe what people did based on what signs he could see revealed the rules of behavior. Armed with this education and a detailed map, he braved the crowds and noise of London to walk home.

He wasn't overly concerned about his appearance. His hair was tucked under a long overcoat and he was wearing his protective torc. The discretix charm on it would keep inattentive eyes away from his unusual appearance. Though pushed and jostled, the day continued on as a vacation from the extraordinary. It was nice to be dealing with a simple, straightforward world. Evelyn, however, continued on as a reasonable distraction. More than once Eric had to discretely ask her not to float into traffic. Cars passed right through her unnoticing; she was, after all, strictly an illusion for Eric alone. Nevertheless, he couldn't help to find the effect unnerving.

As the day grew late and he closed in on the Leaky Cauldron, a disturbing coincidence began to arise. Every third or fourth corner, Eric saw a tall, darkly dressed man staring at him. He first thought he was just letting himself get troubled by all the chaos around him, but as the day went on he saw him five, six, then seven times. There was no doubt in Eric's mind that he was being followed. It became more distressing when, despite Evelyn's objections, he finally decided to confront the man. As he drew closer, the man disappeared. It wasn't that he turned a corner; Eric kept his eyes squarely on him. Rather, the man seemed to lean back into a shadow on a building and melted into it.

That was the point when Eric became scared. The stranger was a wizard, and he wasn't afraid of using magic out in the open. This meant that either he didn't care about regulations, or he was well protected from them. In any case, he had taken an interest in Eric, with didn't please Eric at all.

Doing his best not to arouse too much suspicion, he picked up the pace getting back to the Leaky Cauldron. Many people tried to stop him; some he bumped into in haste, others seemed concerned that he had a problem or that he was perhaps a runaway. It didn't matter; he politely escaped them all and soon made his way into the dark tavern. A cup of cider, a bowl of stew and a room of familiar faces soon improved his mood considerably. It wasn't long before he settled in for a nice quiet meal.

"Yeh foolish boy – where have yeh been?" The bellowing of his guardian filled the tavern and snapped Eric from his dinner. "I've been worried sick over yeh! Thought I'd come over teh git yeh settled in, only to find yeh were walkin' home. What were yeh thinkin'?" Hagrid hauled Eric from his seat, smothering him in a giant bear hug. For all the noise, Hagrid was a loving caretaker, and Eric bore through the stifling greeting until Hagrid finally released him.

Dropping back to his dinner, Eric was quite apologetic. "I'm really sorry; I didn't know you were coming. If I did, I would've sent word." A wave of relief washed over him when Hagrid nodded, settling into the seat across from him. "To be honest, I wish you were with me today. The walk from Kings Cross was a bit unnerving." He proceeded to explain about the dark figure that followed him.

Hagrid listened intently, then smiled. "Ah, there's nuthin' to worry about. Probably just a Knockturnal."

Eric looked up quizzically. "Hagrid, it was broad daylight."

"Nah, not one of those; I mean someone who's livin' on Knockturn Alley. Yeh know, a Knockturnal. Probably got hisself lost. When he saw yeh, he figgered he could follow yeh home. Tha's all."

It was actually reassuring. Eric had encountered many of the wizards from Knockturn Alley. Although they tended to be somewhat creepy, they were for the most part a reasonable group if one overlooked their rather distressing point of view. Their hospitality, though often generous, tended towards the unnerving; and their sense of humor usually took an injurious bend. All this aside, relatively few of them were really involved with anything as nefarious as most people believed.

After finishing dinner, Hagrid walked Eric home, listening with amusement as he rambled on and on about what he had seen all day. "Well, it's good, what yeh chose to do. Gives yeh a chance teh see what muggles are like. Pretty amazin' world, isn' it?"

Eric had to admit – it was all amazing. Muggles had managed to create wonders that wizards hadn't dreamed of. Sounds and images recorded so vividly, to be recalled however the viewer wanted. Buildings that reached for the sky, vehicles that traveled with such speed. While it was true that wizards had their own ways of getting about, it seemed that muggles had their own answers for every spell a wizard could cast.

It all made Eric envious of Naomi – she got to live as a muggle for most of her life, and still did for the summer, while he had to return to his shop to earn his way through school. Arriving lifted his spirits, though. His owls had made it back, and Willy had cleaned off everything. His belongings were all packed away, and an evening snack was waiting. It took Eric little time to settle back into his home. By the end of the evening, he dropped into his cot, exhausted by the day's adventures and looking forward to the coming season of customers.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric could see from the lack of light that it was still before dawn when woke up to the clatter of dishes. Willy was working on breakfast a bit early, and far too noisily. He cursed to himself, wondering why his friend was making so much noise. It was a week since he had returned – work had started slowly, and he didn't have the early orders he was expecting. Taking advantage of the lull, he had made a point of sleeping in and enjoying the experience of gradually waking up.

Willy knew better than to wake him up without reason. Besides that, Willy was always the kindest of housekeepers. He was more than capable of cleaning the entire shop without making a single sound. Figuring that something was up, he threw together something decent to wear before checking out what was happening. It was a good thing, for he wouldn't have wanted to face his guest in a disheveled state.

The goblin appeared to be one of the shorter ones, though his clothes gave the impression that he was of considerable importance. He seemed very unhappy, despite Willy's attempts to make him comfortable. "You are the carpenter?"

"Eric Sable, sir, at your service." He considered his appearance – although it wasn't indecent, it's not the best manners to speak to a client in a robe. "May I have a moment to compose myself?"

"I would prefer to finish our business quickly, so that I may return to my duties." Eric realized that this was the first time he had ever seen a goblin outside of the bank. "We have need of your services in order to repair several shelves and refinish the outer desks."

He paused for a moment before responding. Mrs. Peal had been teaching him that giving thought to any answer, even those where he knew what he was going to say, allows for greater control over a situation. "I would like to examine the work to be done prior to discussing terms any further. This would be at your convenience, of course."

The goblin looked uncertain. "This evening, seven o'clock will be satisfactory."

"Very good. Is there anything else I can do for you at this time?" Eric motioned for Willy to get the goblin his cape.

"No. Good day." The goblin received the house elf's service with apprehension, leaving the store with a very confused expression.

"Master Eric, he looks as if you have upset him."

Eric dropped back into a cushioned chair. "Willy, you should be well aware that goblins are born upset. It's more likely that I surprised him. I don't expect that many goblins have been shown good manners by humans. That will be the best tool I have in negotiating a good price."

"Master Eric will take their job, then?"

"Work here has been slow, and it'll be good to branch out into house calls." He broke out into a wide smile. "Besides, this is Gringotts we're talking about. The prestige alone for doing the work is worth the risk. If I negotiate well, I should be able to get top dollar for the work. The important thing is not to rush." Drawing himself out of the chair, he made his way over to the kitchen. "Now, we'll need to get my formals presentable for this evening. You're coming along – I'll want you in a clean, formal black slipcover with your feet banded with leather pads."

Willy smiled as Eric ate, outlining the tasks he needed done so that a good show could be presented.


	3. Chapter 3

Eric waited by a side entrance to the bank. The goblins didn't wish him to use the main doors for some reason. Walking about, he was led by one of their clerks, who outlined the work they wished done. It was actually fairly simple work – refinishing trim, repairing just a few shelves. At length, he found that he had to ask. "Excuse me, but this all is fairly simple maintenance. Since most of the rest of the bank looks very well kept, I expect that you've been doing this for some time. Why are you requesting my services?"

The goblin turned to him. "Many of Diagon Alley's merchants have taken advantage of your abilities. Are you saying we may not?"

Eric backed away slightly. "Not at all, noble sir! It's just that any work that I do will be a replica of your fine craftsmanship, rather than keeping with the original line of artisans. I would have expected you to wish to keep to the same caliber and school of workmanship. I have no problem doing the work if you wish me to, but it would be less costly for you to simply maintain things as you always have."

"The Master Clerk wishes to take advantage of your skills, and will pay generously." The goblin held out a small scroll for Eric to read. "If, however, you do not wish to take the work, that is your choice."

Eric read the scroll, having to keep himself from gasping. The goblins offered 500 galleons – far more than he would have anticipated. "Far be it from me to deny a customer something they desire. If it's my work that you wish, I'm more than happy to provide it."

"Excellent. You will be expected tomorrow at ten o-clock a.m. sharp." The clerk led him back out the door he came in.

As they returned to Eric's shop, Willy looked upward. "If the offer is as Master Eric says, we should be quite happy!"

Eric looked at the scroll again, then at his trustworthy assistant. "Yes, Willy, we should be very happy – but I'm not. Goblins are clever negotiators and the work won't take that long. We're looking at two to three weeks at most. This is far too much to offer. Come on." He led them back to the shop, but rather than entering their own door, he steered to the right and up a narrow flight of stairs to knock on the thick oak door that guarded the top.

The door creaked open to reveal the generous, welcoming face of Lymeon Peal. "Eric dear boy – so good to see you! Won't you come in?" Drawing the door wide, he gestured for both of his new guests to step into the upstairs of their building. "Clareone – our tenant has come up for a visit!"

"Well, Eric. This is an odd hour for you. I imagine you have some grave question for me." Mrs. Peal guided them both into their kitchen, where she suddenly found herself swatting hands with an elf in a battle to decide who lifts the teapot. "Really, Willy! May I serve my own guests?"

"Mistress Clareone has always been good to Willy, and Master Eric is troubled. Please talk to Master Eric while Willy serves tea." His great eyes looked up to Mrs. Peal in the most pleading way.

She sighed and made her way to sit down. "Oh, very well. There's no clearing this up with his kind, anyway. Now: what's your concern?" Eric held out the scroll for her to examine. She pondered it several minutes before looking up. "How much work needs to be done for this?"

"By my estimate, about a quarter of the work necessary to properly earn that fee. Furthermore, it can't be necessary. They've been maintaining their woodwork since long before I was born; they don't need a carpenter."

"Yes, you're quite right about that." She set the scroll aside and took Eric's hand. "My dear child, I fear that you've stumbled into a rather sticky situation. The goblins wouldn't hire you normally. Even if they were in the mood, they would have negotiated better. I'm afraid this has nothing to do with you. Tell me – when do they want you to work?"

"Tomorrow morning, Ten AM sharp."

She clucked slightly. "That settles it – it's a statement."

Eric's brow furrowed deeply. "Having shelves fixed is a statement?"

Taking a sip of tea, she explained. "Having Diagon Alley's favorite carpenter perform labor for goblins is. There are those who look down on them as inferior. It's rather a major matter that you, a wizard, are working for them."

"Is there a problem with that?"

"There are those who would take a dim view of your work, thinking that you were somehow weakening the position of wizards everywhere by treating goblins the same way that you would treat a witch or wizard."

Eric suddenly felt like he was sinking in a trap. "So, what do I do?"

She paused to take hold of his hand with both of hers. "You do the very best work you can possibly do. These aren't just paying customers, they're the Goblins of Gringotts. To anger them would cause more trouble for the rest of us than you can possibly imagine." She paused again, then continued with difficulty. "I want you to understand what I'm asking you to do. It is very likely that some people will give you a hard time for what you're going to do; but if you don't, we will all feel the consequences and they will be painful. I'm asking you to accept this commission and take the punishment you will receive, for the good of the Merchants around you and the wizarding community at large."

Eric was very worried. "Are they going to snap my wand?"

Mrs. Peal sighed. "I don't know, dear, though I doubt it'll be anything quite that dramatic. Things will be difficult, though. We'll do what we can to help you."

He nodded and smiled to himself. The commission from Gringotts would cover him for the year, and with the Quidditch World Cup so close this year, he wasn't planning on doing too much shop work anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Eric buried himself in his work. It was simple enough – the goblins were even open to his using magic. However, he thought better of it, and turned to Willy to provide any magical support in the project. The elf's efforts on his behalf wouldn't actually be breaking the limits set on him by the Ministry of Magic, though there was no doubt he was bending them considerably. He did notice that some of the patrons of the bank were glancing at him curiously. If the clerks paid him any mind, he didn't notice.

This, however, came to an end at the second week when, as he was about to enter his shop, he found his path was being blocked by a heavyset woman with an annoyingly false expression of courtesy. "Hem! Mister Eric Sable? I'm Dolores Umbridge."

Eric was overcome with the sensation of having stepped in something extremely nasty. "Yes, I know. You had visited my shop last year."

She blushed very slightly. The visit was a blighted mark for the Ministry; one which spread vast rumors across Diagon Alley about abuses of authority. "Hem hem. Well, yes, I was assisting Minister Fudge with a minor matter. This evening, another matter brings me here. May I visit with you for a while?"

Eric turned the key to the shop door. "Actually, I've had a full day of work and am looking forward to a quiet supper."

Dolores abruptly placed herself in front of Eric and moved into the store. "It's about your work that I wish to speak with you. This will only take a moment." She swept her way to Eric's parlor, impressively fast for a woman of her girth.

Eric moved to the kitchen and prepared a glass of lemonade. Stepping back to the parlor, he looked at his unwanted visitor. "Won't you come in, please? Oh, and make yourself comfortable."

She began scribbling on a clipboard, mumbling quite loudly. "_Interview begins with subject making sarcastic remarks._" Eric didn't mind – he earned that deliberately. "Now, Mister Sable. I understand that you are currently working for, well, a collection of creatures. Is that correct?"

Eric counted silently to three. "Actually, I've been commissioned to perform some maintenance for Gringotts."

"_Subject does not appear to be aware of the nature of his clients._" She paused from her scribbling and continued. "You are a student of Hogwarts. Do you know what a magical creature is?"

This time he counted to five. "An animal or being which exhibits abilities or traits of an extraordinary nature." He felt that he should explain himself further, but he could hear Clareone's words in his head: "_A visit from the Ministry of Magic is always a trial, with you as the defendant. Every question is an accusation – never tell them more than what they ask for."_

"Hem. You seem to know your definitions. However, you seem reluctant to call goblins 'creatures'."

Eric probably should have waited, but the reply was too easy. "I wouldn't call the guardians of Diagon Alley's wealth _anything_ that might offend them."

Dolores set her clipboard down. "Ah, I see. You do, however, agree that they are in fact creatures."

Eric was back to counting to five. "You may call them whatever you wish. For me, it is most profitable to consider them clients."

She picked up her clipboard again. "_Subject chooses to be evasive and difficult in his responses._" She adjusted her glasses. "Mister Sable: are you aware of the complications your work may have on the relationships between the wizarding community and the magical creatures it deals with?"

"The only damage I can do is by upsetting my customers." Eric could feel the heat rising in his neck. He knew this was a bad sign and he wanted it to stop, but the overbearing witch was getting on his nerves.

"Hem hem. Yes, on the surface it might seem that way – but how does it look when a wizard does menial work for a creature? Would you, say, build a wardrobe for a flobberworm?"

Eric grinned. "Only if he paid in cash."

"_Subject does not take inquiries seriously."_ She puffed herself up in her chair. "Mister Sable – you must understand that wizards need to take a superior role in the world around them. We can't be seen to be giving ground to the creatures we deal with. Do you understand?"

Eric did manage a three-count before responding. "Firstly, I am quite serious – any flobberworm that can manage to collect five to ten galleons and make the request may have a wardrobe built for it. I don't discriminate against my customers. Second, I don't understand how performing the same services I give to anyone with the money to pay can cause problems. I would think the reverse is far more harmful."

"Well, let me put it plainly. We need to be sure that these things understand that they work for us; period. Allowing you to perform any work for them weakens that position. Therefore - you are not to continue your work at Gringotts. You are not to accept any more commissions from any beings other than true witches or wizards. Is that clear?"

Eric was too furious to hold his words any longer. "Ms. Umbridge, I took a commission to do my best work. My pay is considerable and I'm not violating any laws or rules. I can't back out even if I wanted to, which I don't." He paused for a moment to down the lemonade. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm tired and I need my dinner."

She stood up violently. "Of all the impertinence! I can see that no one has taught you respect or has given you proper discipline!"

Eric turned to her, completely exhausted of manner. "You know, I don't give a rat's whisker what you think. This is my shop and my home. Now, are you going to leave on your own, or not?"

Dolores puffed up proudly. "Do you really think you could force me out?"

Eric smiled sinisterly. "Probably not. Your abilities are likely greater than mine, and you're far too heavy for me to hoist you out." Eric chuckled as she turned purple from the insult. "Now, Willy here, he's charged with caring for my safety and well being; and if **he** thought that you were a threat to me in any way..."

Finding herself staring at a black-clad house elf – his great eyes glaring at her and his hands flexing to cast her across the street – she chose a wiser course and left the shop. "You haven't heard the last of this, Eric Sable!"

As Willy magic'd the door shut, Eric slumped onto a stool in the kitchen. "I'm sure I haven't."


	5. Chapter 5

Eric discovered the next morning how quickly an offended member of the Ministry of Magic could act. At seven o'clock sharp a courier from the Ministry arrived:

From the Ministry of Magic comes these directives to Eric Sable of 97 Diagon Alley.

Be advised that the license allowing the use of magic in pursuit of your profession has

hereby been repealed due to recent events. This is the result of concerns that have arose

questioning your judgment and ability to exercise magical talents responsibly.

You have thirty days in which to file for an appeal, during which time you are banned

from the underage use of magic outside of acceptable and pre-defined limits.

Dolores Umbridge, special undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.

Willy was distraught. "Master Eric, she cannot do this, can she?"

Eric patted his friend on the shoulder. "She can and she has. There's little we can do about it."

Willy broke into sobs. "What is Master Eric to do? Without his magic, how can he keep working?"

Eric plopped by his friend's side. "By continuing to put out quality work – the hard way. It'll be a lot more difficult than it has been, though. If you want to go back to Hogwarts and wait out the summer, I'll understand."

"Master Eric! Willy would never leave you like this!" The small elf tightened his arms locked around Eric. "No matter the pain, no matter the cost – Willy is forever Eric's faithful servant!"

Eric patted the elf to calm him down, hesitating to mention that his ribs were being crushed. "All right, all right. No talk of anyone going anywhere. Let's have breakfast."


	6. Chapter 6

"Absolutely not! Under no circumstances are you permitted to leave."

Eric felt his shoulders gather to his head defensively. He had spent the morning considering his options. Taking up employment with one of the other shops seemed the most sensible solution. The catch was that he couldn't possibly afford the rent he was currently paying. "Please, Mrs. Peal; it's not like I wish to. I just can't afford living downstairs anymore."

Eric's landlady turned to him, staring directly into his eyes with piercing precision. "I simply refuse to allow you to fend for yourself without supervision. Quite frankly, you have too much of a disposition towards getting into trouble and there's far too much trouble in the neighborhood for you to get into."

The jovial presence of Mister Peal shuffled into the room. Seeing the two of them squared off, he took the expression of being extremely embarrassed. "Oh, dreadfully sorry – I didn't mean to interrupt."

Mrs. Peal turned to her husband. "Lymeon, explain to this young man that he is to remain in the shop downstairs, and is forbidden to make any attempt to pursue some foolish and dangerous search for some rat-infested communal lodging." Turning on her heel, she strutted out of the room with a regal bearing.

Eric turned to Mr. Peal. "Can she do that?"

Lymeon smiled warmly. "Over the years, I've found it best not to find out. If she's set on keeping you here, trying to leave may be fraught with more dangers than the roommates." He winked mischievously, then turned to the kitchen.

Eric followed him in, quietly hoping for a nice cup of tea. "Mr. Peal, I appreciate that you all are concerned, and It's not like I wish to move. It's just that I can't make money fast enough with just the carpentry work. If I don't find a job and reduce my expenses, how can I possibly afford Hogwarts this year?"

"Well, Clareone and I have spoken at length, and we've decided to finance your schooling."

Eric backed out of his chair. "You can't be serious!"

"We are quite serious. Clareone and I have become rather fond of you: we believe that you are a young man of character, and you're far too young to be worrying about how to obtain a proper education without starving to death. We will keep track of expenses, for in time I expect you will be able to pay us back. However, I wouldn't worry about that just now."

Eric started to back his way towards the door. "Look, this is getting out of hand. I'll talk with Professor Dumbledore – maybe I can work with Filch to keep the place clean or something..." He had just about made it to the door when he backed into someone.

Turning about, he found that he had backed into Mrs. Peal, who was clearly determined that he would not be leaving any time soon. As he cautiously sank back into the kitchen to slump into a chair, she stepped forward, setting her hands on his shoulders. "Lymeon, I trust you have explained the situation to Mister Sable, and he understands that he is in no position to refuse?"

Lymeon patted his arm. "Well, now that you're out of the thicket, I've always fancied running a coffee shop..."


	7. Chapter 7

Eric continued with his carpentry work, scheduling and limiting his work load considerably. He charged a bit more than before, but found that if he invested the time, his customers didn't mind the expense too much. The fact was, while his magic could help him put out work faster, he was avoiding hard woods because it ruined his tools. Although working by hand was slower, the harder wood responded better to tools driven by hand.

In addition, he spent a good amount of time helping out with Lymeon's shop. Beyond making the tables and chairs, there was quite a bit of clean-up to do, as well as odd jobs. The pay was slim, but without expenses it went a great deal further. The Peals made it clear that whatever money he earned was his own. There would be no point to give him money for school if they were taking it away for rent.

It took about three weeks to remodel the shop front enough to open it as a cafe'. Initially, Eric wasn't sure how Lymeon was going to serve customers and keep a shop clean, but Willy made it easy. Soon, many of the regular visitors to Diagon Alley knew of the Crock & Kettle; an open and welcoming place where good service and a friendly atmosphere made for easy afternoon conversations. Eric took this as an opportunity to give Evelyn some 'outdoor time', where she could at least experience the presence of others, even if she couldn't interact.

The cafe's menu was somewhat limited. Coffee, a variety of teas, and several hot drinks were the featured items. Scones, biscuits and crumpets were the first supporters. For those wishing a light meal, a few kettled soups and a stew of the day were included. However, the little restaurant soon became more than conversation and something to sip. Eric and Lymeon always sought to be gracious hosts, and didn't mind performing the occasional favor for he customers – a delivered message, packages held to be picked up later, meetings arranged – all done with a welcome smile for the sake of an occasional gratuity. As their skills with the odd tasks improved and gained notoriety, the gratuities became more gracious. Soon, the tips that came in made more profits than the coffee, and the cafe' became renown for the creative services provided.

It was these services that brought in the regulars, most were admittedly residents of Knockturn Alley, who were probably sending third person post to cover their tracks. Mister Peal, however, was adamant regarding equal treatment of all customers: no questions meant no questions to anyone. This was, in fact, the way Eric first met Dorian Moon's parents. Harveste and Silver Moon ran an apothecary, but one given to reagents, potions and concoctions more powerful, and often more dangerous, than were considered appropriate. They set up shop on Knockturn, rather than Diagon, to be closer to their clients and to stay out from under the Ministry's supervision. They were, however, more open and friendly than many of the merchants of Diagon Alley, and never too proud to speak with anyone. Dorian often made visits for them, picking up and delivering orders from clients too upstanding to be seen in Knockturn's dark passageways.

Other clients of the coffee shop were, thankfully, far more respectable. Roger Wainwright in particular made regular stops, collecting discreet inquiries while forwarding equally subtle answers. Understandably, this meant periodic visits by Roger's enigmatic daughter, Naomi. Eric particularly enjoyed Naomi's visits, even if her quiet, enigmatic manner gave most people around her the chills. She had a delightfully introspective manner that questioned everything most wizards took for granted.

She was waiting for her father one day, locked in mortal combat in a cutthroat game of backgammon. As one of her gammons knocked two of Eric's to the bar, she looked slightly upward. "What is magic?"

Eric turned to her, completely confused. "Magic is a fundamental flux of the universe; the medium wizards use for a wide variety of effects." His die roll released both back onto the board.

She turned to him, her tone slightly sarcastic. "Thank you, I read Faxell's _Basic Principles_, just like everyone else. I mean, what _is_ it?" A double-four blocked off two spaces in Eric's path.

Eric paused for a minute before his three-two roll sealed a space in her starting quadrant. "Some wizards claim that magic is generated by life, others believe it's some kind of primal energy, while still others believe that it's God's leftovers after he was through making Creation. The fact is, nobody knows for sure."

Naomi was unimpressed. A five-two roll sent another opposing gammon back to the bar. "So how is it that wizards can use something they don't understand?"

"What is gravity?" Eric snorted as a double-six roll was wasted.

Her eyes snapped upward as her dice repeated the previous roll. "What?" Her confusion shone as brightly as the sunlight that flashed as the glossy discs danced across the spaces, rushing towards their home.

"Gravity: ancient cultures used it to move water and build castles. It's in everything we do, but no wizard has ever understood it. You went to muggle schools – do the muggles know anything we don't?" The three-one roll was pathetic, but it did release the trapped disc.

Now it was Naomi's turn to pause and think. A four-two roll had drawn her gammons away from Eric's grouping. "No; nobody really knows what gravity is or why things fall together."

The double five was a mixed blessing; Eric blew by Naomi, but now the forces were all but separated. What remained was a dash for home. "The same goes for magic. Nobody really knows what magic is about; only that it exists and we can use it. We study it at Hogwarts to use it safely."

"Hey you two – delving into unnecessarily deep questions?" Dorian Moon arrived on the scene.

"That, and flushing Eric off the board." Naomi had batted Eric's errant gammon back to the bar, only now the final quadrant was overrun with her pieces.

Eric groaned in despair. He would have to wait until a space opened up, by which time Naomi would have cleared at least a quarter of her forces to the finish. "It was an intriguing question, which completely threw my game; I submit." Naomi seemed to pout slightly as the gammons returned to their homes. She didn't like unfinished games, even if the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

Dorian, however, was quite pleased. "Well, if you're all through getting beaten, you can help me take a few things back to my dad's shop." The delivery wasn't big, but there were a number of boxes that would make for difficult carrying if one person tried it alone. Excusing himself, Eric gathered a bundle and sped after his friend.

Passing through Knockturn Alley, Eric noted that the normally cramped alleyway seemed to open up for the two of them. Dorian had an unusual tendency to know everybody, and to exchange pleasant greetings with every third person. The smiles they received in return – not unfriendly, but twisted in one way or another – made for rather a disturbing walk.

Losing sight of Diagon, the two of them made their way up the crooked alley to the Moon Harvest Apothecary. There Harveste and Silver greeted Eric warmly, grateful for his assistance. "This was a rather complicated order. It's really nice of you to help Dorian bring it in."

"My pleasure, Mr. Moon. I'm just wondering, though; why do you have it delivered to the Peal's shop?"

Harveste smiled to Eric. "Worried about contraband? Don't worry – it's all legal and reasonably safe. There's two reasons why I have deliveries sent to the coffee shop. First, anything that gets sent to a Knockturn Alley address gets scrutinized by the Ministry of Magic, causing delays in shipments. Second, and more importantly, most folks don't like to make deliveries here. Having our shipments sent to Diagon Alley is a courtesy to our shippers."

"Oh, um, that's obvious." Eric could feel the embarrassment rising up his collar. He really didn't want to seem like he suspected the Moons of doing anything wrong. Their response, however, was friendly understanding, which was a great relief. Looking about, Eric found a number of odds and ends; dragon whiskers, chimera mane, salamander skins, and a plethora of other unusual things. Any of these could be mixed together to form some extremely powerful potions. "Well, I should be getting back now. I've got a bookcase to finish."

Dorian spun about. "Oh, Eric, were you planning on making it to the Quidditch World Cup?"

Eric sighed. "I wanted to, but with things turning out as they have, there's no way I can afford it."

Struck by the news, Dorian turned to his father. Harveste smiled at him. "Nonsense. This is a rare opportunity. We're taking the Wainwrights already – I'm sure we can make room for one more."

The Moon's generosity was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Eric didn't know how much tickets to the World Cup would be, but he knew they'd probably be more than he could come up with in a month. "I don't know what Hagrid would say, or the Peals, for that matter."

Mr. Moon's enthusiasm was undampened. "Hagrid is a regular client of mine. I'm sure he wouldn't mind our giving you a day to enjoy. As for the Peals, I'd be very surprised if they don't take in the game themselves. All the merchants expect both Diagon and Knockturn to empty out for the tournament. There's nothing that's going to be happening here."

Eric felt like he was falling down a great landslide. "But, I don't have..."

Mr. Moon waved a friendly hand. "Plenty of time to work out the details. Now, off with you. Talk with the Peals and make your arrangements. Be sure that you plan to arrive about a week early. That's when we'll be there – it makes for a wonderful vacation!"

Dorian turned as he put away various items. "Just head back the way we came and keep to the center of the alley. You'll be fine."

Eric waved goodbye and started heading back. It wasn't long, however, before he began to regret not asking Dorian to help him. The alley was cramped, and there were a number of alcoves leading to this shop or that from which shrouded bodies would come out from nowhere. He tried to keep to the alley center, only to be driven to this end or that, and the more he struggled against it, the more he found himself pushed back.

"Are you lost, young man?" A bald, rat-toothed figure looked down at him menacingly.

He was soon flanked by a straw-haired hag. "Well well – a healthy young lad needing to find his way."

Eric turned away to find himself facing a hooded, wrinkled face. "No reason to run, boy; we only want to help."

He began to panic as a half-dozen shrouded figures closed in on him. "Please – I just want to go home."

The bald man let out an amused hiss. "But you are home, boy; you just don't know it yet." The group about him cackled in agreement.

Suddenly, there was a violent sound – like a giant wolf barking, growling and snarling. The crowd hissed in the direction it came from, only to have their objections replied to violently as an unseen figure struck one of them, knocking them across the alley to slam against a brick wall and crumple in an unconscious heap. The area around Eric cleared in response and he was, for a moment, alone.

Then a man came from out of the shadows. He didn't appear tall or imposing, but there was something about him, particularly his eyes, which led Eric to think of him as someone who was extremely powerful, possessing a wild strength capable of overcoming any obstacle. "Did they hurt you?"

"No sir, just frightened." At this moment, however, Eric didn't see him as powerful or wild – just welcome.

"Well, at least you show some good sense. A youth in this place would have to be foolish not to be afraid." His eyes darted about, as if searching for some attack.

Eric couldn't help but feel offended at his remark. "Dorian Moon walks this alley unafraid."

The man looked at him sternly for a moment before releasing a slight smile. "Dorian Moon has more friends than you imagine. If he is harmed, the consequences would be terrible." There was something in the way he spoke that eliminated all doubt. "My name is Kaneus."

"Eric Sable, sir; and thank you."

Kaneus smiled broadly. "Good manners, too. There's hope for you, boy – real hope. Walk with me." Like before, Eric noted that the residents of the alley cleared a path in front of him. Not wishing to lose the opportunity, he followed Kaneus quickly, to find himself safely led back to Diagon. "You shouldn't have any more problems here. We have made it clear you're under my protection."

"Thank you again." Eric began to breathe normally again.

"My pleasure. If you make it to the Quidditch World Cup, try to get there early, then find the camp of the Romul Clan. You will be welcomed as family."

As Kaneus started back up Knockturn Alley, Eric called to him. "Wait – how will I know where to find the camp?"

"Just ask around for Karan's Circle; but don't be too surprised at the looks you'll get." Kaneus nodded and smiled before disappearing around a corner.

Looking about and feeling confused, Eric nevertheless felt much better being only a few steps from home. However, he didn't even have a chance to start before he was ambushed again; only this time by the far more welcome faces of Fred and George Weasley. "Hey Eric – how's everything?"

"Not bad guys, but aren't you both supposed to be back at the Burrow?"

"Just a momentary break in daytime tedium as we devise new and diabolical plans. Care to help?"

Eric could never refuse a request from the Weasley twins. They were part of an extremely select group that he could turn to if he had to. "What do you need?"

Fred slung an arm about Eric's shoulder. "Nothing unusual, my friend! We're starting a business that needs an address. Hearing about how you're willing to take other people's mail, maybe you can collect ours?"

"Um, I guess so. What kind of mail?" He had no intention of refusing, but it would be helpful to know the kind of precautions to take against exploding packages or flasks of instant swamp.

George slid over to Eric's other side, crossing an arm with his brother. "Order forms, our fearless accomplice – order forms!"


	8. Chapter 8

The Weasley twins had let Eric in on their plans to start a novelty shop when they left the Hogwarts Express. They finally felt they had enough research invested to start sending out advertisements. With luck, they could start a base of interested clients while they worked the knots out of their inventions. However, they couldn't have materials showing up in the Weasley mailbox – Mrs. Weasley had great plans for the twins, and she'd be furious if they didn't live up to her expectations. Fred and George, however, never answered to anyone for as long as Eric knew them, so they weren't about to start.

Although it could be viewed as a conspiracy against Mrs. Weasley, Eric knew that the boys would succeed one way or another. This way was slightly more proper than one or more of the alternatives they could have come up with. He arranged to forward the Weasley's mail as discretely as he could, intending to send floo packages at particular times, during which Mrs. Weasley would be otherwise occupied. He felt a little bad working behind Molly Weasley's back; she seemed real nice, more than willing to offer whatever she had, and was very pleasant to be around.

The plan needed it, though; the boys were extremely talented, but they were sure she wouldn't approve of anything that didn't match the ambition of the first three sons. Unfortunately, topping a researcher of order draconae, a curse breaker, and a Ministry exec ( even a minor one ) would require a great amount of focus. For as long as he'd known them, the Weasley Twins have only been able to concentrate on mischief and pranks. If they were going to excel, they'd need to go with their strengths. Eric felt honored to help.

As for the upcoming World Cup tournament, the Peals weren't quite as agreeable as Harveste Moon had predicted. Yes, he was permitted to go, but they refused to co-operate further. He'd have to find his own way, his own food, and his own lodgings; Clareone insisted.

Lymeon was more sympathetic, but it was clear that he'd never act behind his wife's back. "It's like this, my boy – Clareone has come to feel more than a little motherly towards you, and she does not wish you to get into trouble. Now, I know Harveste Moon and the Wainwrights better than she does, so I know they'll look after you. Clareone, however, doesn't; but she also knows that simply refusing you isn't the best way to handle matters. Therefore, she simply sets the bar so high that you'll never reach it – only we both know better, don't we?"

Eric was confused. "But sir, they haven't published the site of the tournament."

"Of course not, boy – that would result in a thousand wizards and witches showing up on broomsticks without a ticket. That would be a disaster on so many levels, I could scarcely conceive of it. Now, a single wizard on a solitary broomstick could probably make his way without causing concerns; especially if he took precautions." Lymeon ended with a smile and a wink.

He had said quite enough to get Eric's thoughts rolling. He would need a broomstick – one powerful enough to reach anywhere on the British Isles in four hours or less. He'd need personal protection against the wind and the cold, and he'd need a way to locate the site, which was no doubt warded against detection.

The solutions came in reverse order. To locate the site all he would need is someone he was familiar with, and Dorian would suit the bill once he arrived. The leathers he made while he was apprenticing under Hagrid could easily be converted to flying gear that would protect from both cold and the elements. The broomstick, however, was the biggest challenge – one that would require a very clandestine trip.

Eric slept early that evening, enchanting a small bell to awaken him at midnight. He drew together the few items he would need and threw on an outfit to dress the part he was about to play. His clothes were jet black, while his hair was tied down in four places before being tucked under an equally black cloak. He chose to obscure his face with a black sash rather than using any concealing techniques that would give him away.

The biggest advantage to traveling by floo powder is that all one needed was a clear destination. The Sable cottage of Hogsmeade was quite specific enough to fit the bill. Eric would've liked closer, but Hogwarts was warded against travel, so Hogsmeade was the closest he could find. Next he had to get into the school undetected. Making the trip late at night covered half of the needed effort, while using the abandoned tunnel from the Shrieking Shack to the school did the rest. It took an expulsion charm to get past the Whomping Willow before it moved. This left Eric sore on his backside, but it worked.

The final trick was to get into his storeroom. Normally, he would ask Hagrid for the key, but since what he was doing was, by the strictest sense, illegal in one way or another, he wanted to keep his guardian out of trouble. Besides, the lock was hardly intense. A simple Alohomora spell would release it, allowing Eric entry into his favorite place in the world: his workshop in Hogwarts.

Today the shop was mostly empty. He had lost most of his equipment to a moment of Slytherin revenge for breaking house discipline, and he never had a chance to replace it. There was, however, one thing in the storeroom that was still intact; preserved because first-year students weren't allowed broomsticks. It wasn't exactly what he needed, as it was far too slow. What it did have was the base enchantments he needed. Stripped down and rebuilt, it could perform.

A Restomora spell re-secured the room, while the broomstick made for far easier and swifter travel back to Hogsmeade and the Sable cottage. Eric fought to clear his thoughts of the excitement he had been through. The real challenge would come the following morning. "Diagon Alley – the Joint and Joist."

His jaunt up Knockturn Alley next morning went far smoother than the last trip. Kaneus was good to his word, as no one sought to block his path until he bumped into a tall gentleman. "Excuse me, sir."

"Not at all, young lad. It is I who should beg your pardon for crossing your path." The gentleman was dressed entirely in black, while on his shoulder an unnecessarily large ebon crow pecked idly at his collar. Removing his hat momentarily, he arched into a deep bow, then straightened again. "Corvin Frugilagus – at your service."

Eric had never experienced such manners, at least not among the Knockturn residents. "Eric Sable, sir; and I am sorry for running into you."

The man's expression widened. "Eric Sable? Not the Eric Sable of Hogwarts?"

"Well, I'm not aware of another." He was suddenly concerned. It wasn't normal for people to know personal details unless they were after something, and there were just enough strange events in Eric's life for him to be worried.

"Well, young man, I've been following your progress with some interest. What do you say to that?"

"Why? I don't even know you." This was more and more disturbing by the second. Mister Frugilagus' manner was gentle and friendly, to be sure. It was almost like Eric always imagined a grandfather would be. However, two years ago someone died trying to kidnap him from the school, and then there was the person who followed Eric from the station. Perhaps it was Corvin, perhaps someone else, but the timing was poor. He was about to break every rule put on him, and it wouldn't help to have an extra set of eyes watching.

"True, we have never met properly. Allow me to clear matters a little. I am a tutor who excels in a number of the magical disciplines. I seek out students who find themselves constrained in the traditional system we use to educate our children and offer them a venue to excel. Would you be interested?"

The offer was tempting, there was no doubt about that. What was more, Corvin had a disarming manner; there was something about him that just made Eric want to trust and go along with him. However, it was that feeling ( and perhaps the large crow on his shoulder ) that made him cautious. "I don't think so, sir; I doubt Professor Dumbledore would approve."

Corvin's response was a friendly laugh. "Would it interest you to know that Albus Dumbledore is an old acquaintance of mine? It was his advice that directed me to you."

"You understand, sir, that I just can't take that on faith. I'll need to ask the Headmaster myself." Eric was determined not to be fooled.

If Mister Frugilagus had ulterior motives, they weren't apparent. "You go right ahead, son, and assure yourself of my good intentions. Once you're satisfied, write to me at this address." He handed Eric a travel worn business card. "I can tutor you as well by mail as in person. I believe you will find the subjects to be far more interesting than your traditional fare." Tipping his hat, he stepped up the alley and disappeared past a corner.

Eric was extremely concerned about people taking such an interest in him. He'd have to ask Dumbledore personally about Corvin – a letter could be intercepted. At least he didn't appear to be Ministry, which would have put a serious dent in Eric's upcoming plans. He finished his walk to the Moon Harvest Apothecary and knocked.

Dorian answered the door. "Hi Eric! Come on in." He guided Eric past the outer room. "What bring you back here?"

"Well, I have a project that would pretty much break every law and rule that we live by, and my place is being watched." He smiled broadly. "Can I use your basement?"


	9. Chapter 9

It took a week and a half spending every night in the apothecary basement to rebuild his broom. The handle was based on a personal combination of the Nimbus Two Thousand and the Two Thousand and One. Eric preferred the arcing handle of the older model, while the pointed head of the revision was a far better driving nose. It took Eric over a dozen shaping spells to get the pattern just right, but he wasn't about to start from scratch. The ebon handle of his existing broom made the perfect material with it's existing enchantments, and starting over would've taken far too long.

It would be the brush, however, that would be the crowning achievement. Eric had plotted a twin binding for his custom work: a stiffly bound inner brush for speed surrounded by a slightly more open outer shell of twigs for maneuverability. It was still bound to minimize drag, but if it all worked together, it would mean an optimized design - the possibilities were staggering.

Stirrups were needed on any broom that was built for speed, of course. He drew them tight about the brush and drew out the handle for length. A final curve in the handle allowed the rider two possible hand positions, which meant a more comfortable flight. This would be important, given that he didn't know how far he would have to go.

Every last detail and alteration was meticulously documented. The design would have to be hidden until he was in a position to patent it. There was no way he wanted to lose the rights just because somebody figured out what he did. It was a good thing that the brush combination ended up looking like a Cleensweep tail. Nobody would be the wiser without tearing the broom completely down. If that were to happen, the circumstances that would have lead up to it would give Eric far better things to worry about than his design rights.

By the time camping began for the Quidditch tournament, Eric was more than excited. He had told Mrs. Peal that he was making his way to the tournament with the help of his classmates, and he'd be camping with the Wainwrights. This, in and of itself, was not a lie – thus making it possible to pass the scrutiny of a skilled Ex-Auror without revealing any of the less desirable details. If Mrs. Peal suspected anything, she didn't show it.

Of all his achievements, the broom flight to the Tournament would be a highlight. It would mean that he had out-planned and out-thought the Ministry of Magic. Even if no one ever found out about it ( and it was very much his intention that no one would ), it would mean a personal triumph over the people who wronged him. That would be enough.

That evening, Eric went to bed early again. When his chime went off, it was One O'clock. He figured he had a good four hours of cover before dawn. The sky would be dark, the strange machines muggles flew in would be fewer, and the rare person who would be awake would hardly be attentive. He drew on his leather suit; wrapped his head with a thick scarf and adding goggles to protect his eyes. Sneaking out to the tiny yard behind the Peal's shop, he mounted his creation and soared into the sky.

Reaching into a small pouch, he drew out a crystal ball. It was well protected, woven into a leather cover that it couldn't escape from, with a lanyard stretching back to the pouch. Even if his hands slipped, it would be safe. Cupping it with his hand, he searched about for Dorian. The trick worked once before, when he saved Naomi from a pack of werewolves. He hoped it would work again.

If he was simply searching for the Quidditch field, even with a more powerful spell, the enchantments of the Ministry would have blocked it. However, because his focus was Dorian, and not the field or the camp at all, he succeeded in bypassing the enchantments. It was going to be a long flight, but possible in the time allotted.

There was just one more thing to do. Although he had already made provisions for it's care, Eric gingerly drew out the elongated crystal that contained Evelyn. She appeared before him the instant he secured it about his neck. Tucking the crystal under his leather chestplate, he turned to her. "I've got three hours on this broomstick ahead of me. Want to fly?"

Evelyn was delightful company. She didn't bother pretending that she needed any mode of transport, choosing instead to zip about Eric's vision like a ghost. It seemed reasonable, really. There could only be a few advantages to being an incorporeal memory; there was no sense in wasting them. She discussed the broom's design as they traveled, apparently fascinated by it's construction. He thought there was more than a little pride coming from her, no doubt the result of seeing her son excel.

At first, Eric thought it was odd that she didn't mind his rule-breaking. Then again, she was Slytherin house – the fact that he broke more than a few laws during this adventure of his wouldn't bother a normal Slytherin in the least. Eric didn't feel much pride in breaking rules; he was far more pleased that all his planning and work was proving effective. The fact that rules were in the way was a most regrettable obstacle, but one that would have to be overcome if he were to succeed.

At length he reached a wide range of rolling hills, one which wasn't as it should be. He wouldn't have been able to tell that, except that every time he raised his crystal to his eye, he saw his friend sleeping below him, in the middle of an extensive campground. His naked eyes, however, saw nothing. Circling the region, it took him twenty minutes before he found an anchor stone for the enchantment. It was extensive, powerful, and fortunately durable. Eric would be able to pass through the threshold into it without affecting it. Rising high above the campground, he waited until he saw a clear patch to drop onto. Sinking low in the darkness, he dropped down and hid a while until he was sure that he wasn't seen, opening two carry pouches so that he could finally release Midget and Widget. The two owls fluttered their wings for several minutes to get them moving again before disappearing into the night. Drawing up his broom and his pack, he then walked through the camp toward the place Dorian was sleeping. He was feeling dead on his feet, but a safe place to rest was needed.

As he closed in on the camp, he found a small fire burning unattended. Stepping closer, a low voice came out from behind him. Turning about, he found himself facing a dark figure, covered by a black trench coat with his eyes shielded by a wide-brimmed hat, the likes of which he had never seen. "Um, hi. I'm looking for the Karan Circle?"

"Well, then warm greetings to you, my young friend!" Eric cringed at the sound of the man's bellowing. He was sure he would wake up every camper around. "I am Riley O'Padraigh, Dark Lord of the Clan Mahkab, and I welcome you!" He slammed Eric's shoulders with his open palms before loosening his arm with an extremely aggressive handshake. "If you don't mind my asking, did you arrive on that broom? None of our camp are expected this late in the evening."

A guarded truth was always better than a faked lie. "Well, it's kind of a long story; one that would really get me locked up if the Ministry knew."

"Fear not, my adventurous friend! None of the Ministry will ever discover anything from us!" If Eric had any doubts, they were all based in the fact that Riley was the most dramatically expressive person he had ever met. At this moment, he was sure that every Auror from the camp all the way back to London knew that something had happened. "However, bold tales of inspiring deeds can wait until the day; for now, you may rest in my tent tonight. Amelia and I will make you breakfast in the morning!"

Setting aside the fact that Riley made the act of going to sleep sound like an epic quest, Eric was very grateful for the hospitality. The inside of the tent was somewhat snug, but open enough for him to find a corner for the night. Sleep and breakfast would cure most of his ills. The rest could be tackled once he was ready.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning was heralded by a shaft of light slicing into the tent. Looking over, Eric noted that Riley came in some time during the night to snuggle next to a shrouded lump that he assumed was the yet to be introduced Amelia. Taking care to be as quiet as possible, he made his way over to a partition behind which he could change into his day-clothes. Although many of the wizards would probably be going about traditional, he really preferred his black denim and crew shirt. Throwing his cloak over it all, he left the tent to search for Dorian. He had no doubt that he could muster some breakfast there.

Midget and Widget returned during the night, and were currently perched on a nearby tree. He couldn't tell if they had managed to catch anything or not, but they seemed content enough. He figured that there'd be enough owls about that the two of them wouldn't be too unusual a sight.

Asking about confirmed that he was, in fact, in the middle of the Karan Circle. Further, the Moons were only two tents over, as they also were members of Mahkab. Eric decided that a discreet inquiry into what the Circle and these various clans were supposed to be would be in order. He would not like to find himself in the middle of a plot to overthrow the Ministry. As much as he didn't like the bureaucracy, he was no anarchist.

Eric made his way about the various camps who were in the circle, waiting to see a familiar face. Some of the waking campers were having problems, for the rules of the camp apparently banned the use of magic outside of the tents. Although Eric didn't know too much about muggle artifacts, he was amazed at how few wizards knew how to use matches. The first lesson in Professor McGonagall's class was turning matchsticks into needles; it helped a lot if one knew what a matchstick was. However, with a burst of patience, he managed to instruct four camps on their uses and aided them in building proper campfires.

Heading back to Riley's tent, he decided to put his knowledge to use for his benefactors; by the time Riley and Amelia came out of their tent, a well tended fire awaited them. Amelia, it turned out, was a shorter blond woman who's gaudy clothing and friendly features radiated a desire to find the fun side of everything. "Well, good morning – and thank you so much for starting our fire. Are you ready for breakfast?"

Eric was more than ready. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Although embarrassed at how clumsy he was with even the simple kitchen items, Amelia was extremely patient, and soon they were all sitting down to waffles with syrup and bacon. Eric was all but through with his when a figure in a familiar cloak drifted by. "Hey, Naomi!"

The cloak spun about to face him. It was, in fact, Naomi; dressed in a one-piece bathing suit and still damp from a morning swim. Although the outfit was fairly modest, Eric had never seen Naomi in anything that wasn't formal or a school uniform. Her appearance that morning struck him differently than ever before, leaving him speechless until she snapped her fingers in front of him. "Eric?"

His head shook for a moment before looking up at her. "Oh, um, you look great... I mean, it's great to see you!" He cringed inside. He had known her for two years now, and never found himself at a loss for words. Now he couldn't even spit out a proper sentence without embarrassing himself.

It was Naomi, however, who bore the brunt of the discomfort. Noticing that her cloak had opened, she swiftly snapped it shut. At the same time, her face turned red; a brilliant scarlet that flushed out her features like he had never seen before. "I ... was out for some exercise. They've got a heated pool here and ... I should change." Drawing up her hood, she struck out for her camp with a quickened pace.

Eric slumped back down to his breakfast. He was mortified that he had embarrassed her. Naomi had always been nice to him, which was more than a little rare for someone who seemed raised without an ounce of tact. She seemed determined to follow in her father's ways – direct, polite, and to the point without too much concern for hypocritical diplomacy. It meant a lot to him that she made him an exception, and now he embarrassed her in public.

He was so lost in his thoughts that it took him a while before noticing Amelia chiming out, "Somebody loves someone – somebody loves someone – I've got a secret – I'm going to tell!" The tune was as infantile as the words, which drew out of Eric the same reaction that Naomi just expressed as he felt heat rising up his neck and into his cheeks. "Ooh, must be serious; your color's so pretty!" She dashed across the clearing, throwing her arms about Eric in a huge hug as she jumped up and down. "Eric's got a crush! Eric's got a crush!"

By this time, Eric's hair had shook its ties and was swaying about, falling about everywhere and turning into a complete mess. Clearing the space in front of his face, he looked over to Riley. "Is she always like this?"

Amelia answered for him. "Only when I have a new friend to play with!" She kissed him lightly on the cheek and gave him one more crushing hug before skipping back to her breakfast.

Riley finished off a tall cup of orange juice before drawing himself up. "Well, we should get you checked in." He drew out a roll of paper slips, which Eric recognized as muggle money. "There's a group that will be coming in by portkey in ten minutes. You'll mingle with them to get you actually past the front gate, then ask for me. I'll sign you in with our camp as my guest, so that nobody will ask questions. Easy enough?"

It certainly sounded simple, and getting into the portkey crowd was easy, since most of them spilled out of the gate opening onto the ground. He simply waited until the group started to gather together then mingled with the people on the edge. Once he was walking in, he asked about Riley and Amelia in order to create a trail of witnesses that would swear that he came in on the Ten-Oh-Five portkey.

He brought Riley back with him to check in and pay his fees for the week. It all went as smoothly as could be hoped, until he heard his name called out. Turning about, he felt his stomach twist in knots watching the figure of Dolores Umbridge crossing the camp towards him. "Hem, hem – young man, I wonder if I could speak to you for a minute?"

Eric bit hard against his first reply – that she never seemed to have a problem before, so why now? "Yes, Ms. Umbridge?"

She drew out a clipboard and adjusted her glasses. "I understand that you arrived last night, is that correct?"

Eric waited before answering, considering his words so that he could avoid any traps. "I arrived about twenty minutes ago, using a portkey."

"Indeed, and that portkey came from?" Clearly she suspected something, but was hunting for proof.

Fortunately, Riley had already briefed Eric on the nature of the portkey, apparently anticipating trouble. "It was the moth-eaten felt hat from Plymouth."

"Yes, yes – hmm, Plymouth. That's a long way from London." Her eyes narrowly peered at Eric through her glasses.

"Since the Ministry withdrew my writ to use magic, I've had to widen my range in order to maintain enough projects to make ends meet." No sense in appearing anything less than disgruntled.

"Hmm, hmm – I see; and the nature of that project was..." She seemed ready to pounce.

"None of the Ministry's business." Eric knew it would get him in trouble, but he was getting tired of the scrutiny.

Without warning, a stern voice rose from behind Eric. "Excuse me, but what business does a Ministry Special Undersecretary have with a young carpenter?" Turning about, he found himself flanked by the imposing figure of Roger Wainwright.

Dolores puffed up in response. "We have reason to believe that this young man has violated the decrees against the underage use of magic, as well as breaching the security of this gathering – putting us all in dire jeopardy. May I ask what business it is of yours?"

Roger handed her a card. "It has come to my attention that the Ministry of Magic has focused an unusual amount of attention on one Eric Sable. Due to his youth, the presence of an adult advocate is appropriate." Roger straightened his tie with a single-handed move before continuing. "Circumstances have come to suggest a pattern of harassment against him, apparently the result of his unknowingly taking on clients that the Ministry did not approve of. When he refused to breach a lawful contract, the Ministry curtailed his operations." Roger straightened his suit. "Ms. Umbridge, there are many ways to distribute this information to the public, along with a number of other Ministry excesses that have become increasingly common. Although the Ministry appears to have a tight grip on the Daily Prophet, other means are available."

Dolores suddenly appeared extremely unsettled. "Mister Wainwright, I assure you that every measure or action taken by the Ministry of Magic is meant strictly for the best interests of the magical community and well within our jurisdiction. Furthermore, nothing you have said has any bearing on the matter at hand."

Roger was unaffected. "A matter which would require evidence before any Ministry official could pursue it, and one which would best be handled by an Auror, not a petty bureaucrat." Eric wondered how many of the witnesses caught that Roger was commenting on her personality, rather than her position. "I trust you can, at least, present evidence to support your claim?"

Dolores sputtered and stammered. "A matter of this importance must be acted on immediately..."

Roger smiled. "I'll take that as a no. Consider yourself notified that any further harassment of Eric Sable will result in most unfortunate consequences. As this conversation has ended, I suggest you proceed elsewhere."

Ms. Umbridge locked eyes with Mr. Wainwright for an intense minute before turning and leaving. Roger made sure she was out of sight before turning back to Eric. "I trust any condemning evidence can be discretely eliminated?"

Eric turned to him, shaking off the surprise before answering. "Um, yeah. I mean; yes sir. I'll make sure nobody will find a thing. But, if you knew that I really was guilty, why did you stand up for me?"

Roger set his hand on Eric's shoulder and directed him back to camp. "I didn't know for sure until just now. The fact is, the only thing the rumors about camp have is that someone arrived by broomstick last night. Whoever it was traveled light, fast, and left no trails. Nobody showing up today has any idea where they came from, though the Ministry is sure that they resided in the near vicinity, since nobody would be crazy enough to fly more than an hour in the dead of night."

Eric snickered. "Why not? It's the best cover – everything's dark and nobody's looking."

"Which is the reason why I felt justified in supporting you. Yes, you broke the written law; but you respected the spirit of it. You saw to it that you weren't observed and you didn't disrupt the defenses and wards protecting this place. You were discreet and no one is the worse for it. What they would do to you would be based entirely on your defiance of their rules, and would no doubt be far too extreme and completely unjustified. Therefore, I defended you, and would do so again, if the circumstances were similar."

Eric let himself have a sigh of relief. With luck, his hosts would feel the same. Seeing the camp, he immediately met with Riley and Amelia, to find out how to hide his incriminating property. They both came up with the same answer: he'd have to speak with Grandmother Frona.


	11. Chapter 11

Grandmother Frona, as it turned out, was indeed an elderly woman, currently residing in a large gypsy wagon. The porch was decked out in swirling colors, with a rectangular table parked in the middle. Frona was settled behind the table, sorting out various divination items. Flanking her on either side were a pair of young cats. One was a slender gray tabby, given mostly to attacking any insect that buzzed about. The other was a well-fed calico who was missing a bit of one ear and at least half it's tail; currently addressing what appeared to be a nasty itch.

Eric was lead to stand before her. Examining the items, he decided to break the silence. "Excuse me, but isn't magic forbidden at the camp?"

The old woman looked up at him irritatedly. "This coming from the outsider who knew better than to find a portkey? Our arrival was more discreet than anyone's. Our wagons arrived four days ago, and settled in the back of the campground as many of our people do. We are considered eccentrics by the muggles, and a magic stand such as this one is expected in front of our wagons. We would stand out far more if we didn't make ourselves at home." The woman straightened herself. "Now; Riley tells me that you have something you wish to hide; items that you cannot be seen with." She gestured for Eric to sit.

He did so, uneasily. "Um, that's correct, Ma'am. A broom and a suit of leather. It might even need smuggling out of here."

She sat and thought for a moment. "This can be done. Perhaps even easily. However, why should we do this for you?"

Eric pondered the thought very hard. Having nothing to offer, he had to endear himself to this woman. That meant taking risks. "Because you have even less regard for the Ministry of Magic than I do?"

Her twisted features bound into a scowl for several seconds, then she burst out laughing. "Kaneus – I commend your insights. The boy has indeed turned out all right!" She turned back to him with a smile and a pat on his cheek before her expression turned serious again. "Understand this: we do not help outsiders. Why we do this now, you will come to learn in time. For now, gather your things and bring them to my wagon. The Mahkab are good people; but you are Romul, so you sleep with the Romul!"

As Eric drew himself up, he bowed to Frona. As if out of nowhere, he found himself flanked on either side by two wild looking men. "You have met Kaneus; this is Fenris. They will help move you to our camp." Looking at the two men, Eric suddenly felt strangely at home. More than anything was their appearance. Kaneus looked even wilder than he did in London, while Fenris had hair similar to his, stretching down to the middle of his spine. Eric realized that he could blend in with this camp.

Riley seemed only mildly annoyed that Eric was changing residences. Although they were excellent hosts, he and Amelia clearly preferred to be alone. Everything was moved with the utmost of discretion. His broom was covered over to resemble camping gear until it was stowed in Frona's wagon. Once his belongings were settled, the clan began to swarm about him, fitting him with clothing and gear. This was most welcome, even if it was coming from strangers. It occurred to him that he really didn't plan this trip well. He had no gear, no food, and no additional clothing; as he was counting on getting help from the Moons rather heavily. Fortunately circumstances had, for the moment, swung in his favor.

Once he was settled, he began to look about for ways to repay his hosts. Some of their wagons and furniture needed minor repairs, which he set to enthusiastically. Several days passed by as the work made the hours pass quickly. They passed so quickly, in fact, that he didn't notice until a few days before the tournament that he didn't have a ticket to the game. Although he didn't want to seem forward or greedy, he did like to have things tidied up.

Unfortunately, when he found Dorian, his friend looked unusually downcast. "Eric, I don't know what to say – we couldn't get your ticket."

He was stunned. He had gone through quite a bit to get to the game, and now he was going to miss it. Dorian suggested that he speak with Roger Wainwright – the advocate was known for being resourceful. Eric, however, refused to turn to the Wainwrights. They had already been more than generous with him, and he hadn't spoken with Naomi since his first day at camp. He didn't want to make any more mistakes with her, so he chose to keep his distance.

As the camp settled in that evening, the clans gathered together. This particular evening was a costume party, with all the Karan Circle clans participating. Each clan bore a braided sash, with different colors identifying which clan the bearer associated with. There were three clans in all; Onyx, Romul, and Mahkab.

Try as he might, Eric had a terrible time trying to find out the purpose for the Circle. The clans were families. The people he asked proudly insisted that each had a noble tradition, but when he asked further, the story was always the same: it was a secret meant only for family members. Onyx didn't know what Mahkab's secrets were, and Mahkab knew nothing of Romul's history. Each house had it's own music, it's own poetry, and it's own customs.

As for the Circle, it was only slightly easier to understand. The three clans didn't fit well, even in wizard society. The Circle was a joining of outsider families to support one another. Big events like this one made for good opportunities for the families to gather together. Eric did note that Frona and a number of the older clan members were currently gathered in a corner by themselves. He tried to get closer, only to find that the nearer he approached, the more he felt that he needed to be elsewhere. By his third attempt, he was sure that the meeting was warded, and that it would be best to let it be.

Moving back to the campfire, he was greeted with a loud party. Eric wasn't familiar with their customs, but the drumming, singing and dancing were infectious. It wasn't overly long before Kaneus and Fenris had him playing simple rhythms, while masked dancers spun about the campfire. One shrouded figure in particular seemed to take an interest in Eric. Although the person was clearly a female ( and one who apparently considered personal fitness important ) , he found the prospect painfully uncomfortable. It was one thing to watch the others and wish he could join, but quite another to act when the opportunity presented itself.

He would have stayed where he was if his fellow drummers hadn't pushed him off his chair. Gentle hands dragged him into the open, but he quickly fought his way back into the shadows. His companion seemed more than disappointed, so much so that he felt compelled to explain. "I'm sorry – It probably sounds stupid in this crowd, but I can't dance."

She replied by leading him further away from the fire. Taking his hands, she led him through a slow routine, keeping her steps down to every other beat of the drums so that Eric could follow. He still didn't know what he was doing, but it was fun to be able to join in the dance without embarrassing himself. Whoever his new friend was she was patient, and it wasn't long before he could move well enough to keep slow time with her.

He lost track of how long they spent behind the crowd, but for as long as they were back there, he didn't care about whether or not the Ministry had it in for him. He didn't even care about missing the Quidditch tournament. The music was delightful, the company was delightful, and everything was just fine for the moment.

The two of them sat for a while together in shrouded darkness. Eric tried discretely to determine the identity of his companion, but to no avail. Being this close, she drew her cloak tightly together and kept her hood forward. After a while she shifted and began to stand. He offered the courtesy of helping her up politely, and bowed as she vanished into the woods. He remained a while longer, wondering what was going on with his life now, before giving up on trying to figure out the possibilities. Things would sort themselves out in time – he just would have to be ready for it.


	12. Chapter 12

Eric sat back in a weak, creaking wooden chair. He had been working tirelessly for two days on a new broomstick, not speaking or pausing, and barely sleeping. His hosts were clearly worried about him, but were reluctant to say anything. However, as he sagged downward, he felt an inward heave of satisfaction. Frona's cats started spiraling about him. He absent-mindedly started scratching their heads. His work was complete – tonight, he would try it out.

"Hey! You all done here?" The shout just about knocked him out of his chair. Turning about, he found himself facing a tall, green clad girl. Her angled face was chiseled into an expression of absolute fascination, as waves of ebon hair hung about her shoulders. Thinking for a moment, Eric realized that he knew her: Sheena Wyldehart, a sixth-year Slytherin student.

He remembered that for as long as he was in with the Slytherins, he envied her. She was never forced into doing something she disliked, and nobody crossed her. This was all for one simple reason – everyone knew she was the most powerful student in Hogwarts, superior in pure talent to at least half the staff. As if that wasn't enough to convince other students to leave her in peace, she could beat a troll senseless with her bare hands, without even bothering for a reason. Oddly enough, although it was clear that she was fairly enhanced through Dark Magic, the instructors overlooked it.

The fact was, Eric rather liked her. She wasn't unreasonably mean, she clearly preferred reading to bullying, she always gave people a chance to apologize before pulverizing them, and she despised Draco Malfoy. For a Slytherin, she wasn't half bad. The few peaceful hours he had in the Slytherin common room were thanks to her; for the one time Draco and his cronies started beating on Eric in front of her, she walked over and knocked both Crabbe and Goyle unconscious with one kick. She then scared Draco out of the room with a single shout: "Do you mind? I'm reading over here!" After that, Eric always scheduled his Common Room time for when she was there.

"Hey, are you awake?" Sheena slapped his face lightly a couple of times, which shook him out of his musings. "I asked if you were done. We've all been anxiously awaiting your latest invention."

Eric's face turned bright red when he realized that he had been staring at her, so lost in his memories that he lost track of his surroundings. "Sorry. Yes, I'm done."

A few seconds passed before a look of irritation began to grow on Sheena's face. "So? I see it's a broom; but you arrived on one, so I'm guessing there's an improvement somewhere."

"Um, yes – I mean, maybe not an improvement, but a change. You see, the broom I arrived on was built for speed an maneuverability. This one is built for stability and stealth." Taking hold of the broom, Eric drew out his small crystal ball. The broom he had build had three small protrusions in the front, looking almost like a claw. A small effort slid the crystal into the claw's fingers, at which point the entire broom took on the appearance of clear crystal. "It wouldn't really be effective up close, but it should be quite effective from a distance." As he mounted the broom and took it into a hover, his outline shimmered until he became as translucent as the broom.

"Impressive! Plan to steal a view of the World Cup that way?" Her words were mildly scolding, but there was an underlying note of approval in her tone.

"I figure if I can build myself a way to attend, I've earned it. Anyone seeing me will mistake me for a ripple in the clouds. Any muggle who could possibly see me will be far more attracted to the Quidditch Tournament, and would have to get altered memories anyway."

Eric landed behind the wagon and drew out the crystal. Sheena looked the broom over with admiration. "It's amazing that you were able to produce a flying broom in just a few days."

He shrugged. "Not really. The broom is one of Madame Frona's; I just modified it. Mine already has so many enchantments on it, one more would probably result in an explosion."

"So, you'll have the best seat in the house. What's it worth to you?"

"Excuse me?"

Sheena smiled mischievously. "You're in trouble with the Ministry. Everybody knows it. Now, I'm not one to tell tales, but as a good citizen I'm obligated to report this infraction of the law. However, I'm willing to trade this for a favor."

A chill ran down Eric's spine. "What kind of favor?"

She turned about to leave. "I'll let you know."

Looking back on it, Eric was really quite happy that no one had to buy him a ticket to see the game. The fact was, it was all over far too quickly. The festivities were nice, and the veela were a trip to watch, but none of that mattered when Viktor Krum ended the game so quickly. He thought it odd that a seeker would win the game for the opposing team. He'd have to check with Dorian – he followed Quidditch much more than Eric did – he'd have a better answer.

Taking advantage of his relative stealth, Eric rested among the clouds until twilight. He could see that it was going to be a full-moon night. He always loved full moons, for the bluish light made everything surreal, and always seemed to lay the world open to him. He could make out details of everything around him as clearly as in daylight.

Setting down behind the Romul clan, he discretely stowed the broom and pouched the crystal. Dinner was as excellent as ever, and once again the clans began an evening of music, singing and dancing. This, however, came to an abrupt halt when a loud bang shocked the camp. Looking about, they could see a mob of hooded figures coming their way, with the camp owners suspended like puppets before them.

The clans moved quickly, drawing out their wands and forming a defensive wall before their camps. Enchantments were hastily thrown up to defend the tents, wagons and fire pits from offensive spells as subtle curses formed a barrier for the oncoming mob. Those seeking to cross the barrier found themselves up to their knees in thick mud while leafy tendrils bound them tightly, rendering them immobile.

At first, all the chaos was more than overwhelming. It was all so frightening, and so terrible when wizards turn their power against their own. Then something stirred; something Eric couldn't define, but he could clearly feel. The mob before him seemed less like a threat than an insult. He had finally found a place to rest and be himself, a place where he was accepted. How dare these fools think that they could take that from him?

What began as a random thought spun into his head, gaining fervor and strength until it spun out of control. Grabbing a pole, he charged past the clans into the mob swinging, spinning about and throwing kicks when he couldn't bring the pole about fast enough. Hooded wizards darted about, fleeing as he strikes brought down one, then two, then three wizards in vicious succession. One of them tried to grab him from behind, only to find out that robes hinder such actions – and earn the one making the attempt kicks to the stomach and face in rapid succession.

Eric was terror in motion. The rage that the mob caused in him was devouring him from the inside. The only release was to give pain to someone – anyone. He was so filled with fury and pain that he couldn't stop attacking; even when he saw three wizards before him draw out their wands.


	13. Chapter 13

He remembered that there was light, and that it was extremely bright. He remembered something loud, and a sensation of being struck everywhere all at once; like standing in the path of a very deep wave or feeling the shock from an explosion. The only difference was that it was very strong, and now he couldn't move, because everything hurt.

He tried to remain still, hoping to sort out what was going on around him. He heard voices, which was a relief to him since that meant that he wasn't deaf. Sorting them out, he could make out many of the people he was staying with. The echo of the room suggested that he was actually in one of the wagons, and he could tell that something was happening outside. Several voices appeared to be arguing some matter.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cool towel placed on his forehead, which made him wince from the initial discomfort. "Ah, he is awake." Grandmother Frona's voice told him that he was among friends, at least for the moment. "All of you should leave now. I need to see how hurt he is." The shuffling of feet and the creaking of the wood gave him an idea of how many people were watching over him. "Now, I want you to open your eyes slowly. Don't worry, we've only a few candles here, so the light shouldn't hurt you."

It took Eric a moment to trust, a moment to brave the possibility that he was blinded, and another to remember exactly how to open his eyes. When he did, he found himself looking into a much younger face than expected; one bearing a most uncharacteristic expression of concern. "Naomi?"

She backed up slightly while regaining her usual composure. A friendly cackle came from behind her as Frona moved closer. "Well, it was a far more welcome first sight than my wrinkled cheeks, wasn't it boy?" She laughed as he shifted uncomfortably. "Well, have no fear. You are strong and their spells were hurried. It will take some time, but you will fully recover."

Naomi had settled herself on a small wooden chair. "How do you feel?"

Eric felt no reason to lie. "Everything hurts."

She set her hand on his in a gesture of sympathy. "They cast a combination of expulsion charms at you. We think you flew about thirty yards."

Eric favored his ribs, laughing only lightly. "And without a broom – a new personal record."

The door creaked open, and several faces peeked in. He could hear Dorian's usually cheerful voice turn apprehensive. "Can we see him?"

Frona waved them in. "He will be fine. You may visit, but quickly – he needs rest."

Eric was beginning to despise bedside visits; he had been the recipient of too many of them in the last few years. The nice thing, however, was seeing everyone who cared. Dorian came in with Tylena locked on his arm. "She had just joined our ranks right before you attacked the mob. She wanted to help defend the clans – isn't she great?" Eric admitted that it said volumes for her character that she was willing to do something for others. It was a trait that too few Slytherins possessed.

Riley and Amelia were next, chanting epic praises regarding his heroic ( if extremely foolhardy ) charge against the attacking horde. Riley promised to compose a Grand And Extremely Embarrassing ballad extolling his virtues at their next gathering. Amelia was far more practical, promising to get him a thank-you gift.

Sheena and the Wainwrights stopped in. It seems that the Ministry was extremely concerned about the whole incident and wanted to speak with Eric regarding his actions. Roger, however, was firmly indignant and uncooperative. After all, Eric hadn't used any magic against his attackers, and there were dozens of witnesses. There was nothing that Eric could add of value, and why were these people allowed to make such a travesty of muggles? Wasn't the Ministry supposed to prevent that?

Sheena decided to offer a critique. "Not bad form, and taking the pole with you was a good idea. You had several good moves, especially against the one that grabbed you. Unfortunately, you let them disengage, which gave the three who got you a clear shot. Keep that in mind: use your opponents as shields." Although he had no plans for a repeat performance, he listened closely. A person never knows what tomorrow brings.

As everyone left, Naomi sat back down beside him. "Eric, why did you attack them? Together we would have held them off."

Frona offered an explanation as she dug about an herb cupboard. "Hot blood. I know it well – most of the Romuls suffer from it." She turned about to face the both of them. "It makes one impetuous, it clouds judgment, and it burns the soul with passion." She paused to smile, patting Eric on the head. "For myself, it was good to see. I was worried that your blood wouldn't burn, and your soul would be too thin for the Rapture."

Eric could feel the tone of the room change. "The what?"

Frona drew her chair closer to them. "Listen well, Eric Sable. I suspected much, and now I find that it was true – your grandfather was one of my children. You are a semi-blood descendant of the Romul clan, with enough dark power inside of you to make the difference."

Naomi turned to Frona. "A semi-blood with dark power; what are you saying?"

Eric completed the thought for her. "She's saying that I'm a werewolf." Turning away, he pulled blankets over his shoulder, wanting more than anything to hide himself.

Eric desperately wished that what Frona was implying wasn't true, but the morning proved otherwise. He was fine – in fact, he rarely felt better. All the aches and pains from the night before were gone. More than anything else, he wanted to run; to work out all the kinks in his muscles and burn off what little lethargy he was feeling.

He covered half the parameter of the camp before he noticed that he wasn't alone. Sheena was running behind him, gaining fast. "Good morning! Care for some company?"

"Not particularly." He picked up his pace. He really didn't want to speak to anyone at the moment.

"Give it up, wolf-boy! I'm way faster than you." In an effort to prove it, she drove herself harder until she caught up to him.

"Leave me alone!" He worked himself as hard as he could. Although he was gaining ground, his muscles were starting to rebel. It wasn't long before the strain was getting to him, and he began to lose his balance.

"Hey hey, easy now." Sheena was next to him, helping him find his feet again. "Slow down steadily. If you stop too fast, you'll cramp up."

Eric was getting to hate her attention. "Can't you just go away?"

She smiled. "I would, but annoying you is more fun." She waited while an irritated look passed across his face. "You want to talk about it?"

"How would you like finding out everyone's going to say you're a monster?" His chest was burning, but it was clearing quickly – very quickly.

"It's hardly that bad. You're a semi; odds are that you'll never have to go through a transformation, and with a little control, you'll be able to avoid unpleasantness like last night." She pulled them both to a stop. "I'm not just annoying you. I'm trying to tell you what I had to learn the hard way. You've got a part of yourself that Hogwarts isn't prepared to deal with."

Eric felt suspicion rise within him. "I suppose you can teach me?"

She smiled. "No, but he can."

Eric looked upward. The smiling face of Corvin Frugilagus stared back at him as a stately rook absently fluttered on his shoulder.


	14. Chapter 14

Eric stepped onto Platform 9-3/4 with a few additional books. Corvin, it turned out, was a fairly prolific author. As part of his tutoring, he had to pick up four additional texts, each one being a fairly thick tome. As Eric waited to enter the Hogwarts Express, he started into the first book to get a feeling for his teacher's writing style. He was pleased to find that the book was fairly readable, with many of the initial subjects getting to the point quickly. The text covered practical application, referencing other works for research if background was desired.

Eric loaded his few belongings as absently as ever, then turned to make his way to the passenger cars. He didn't travel far, however, before he heard his name shouted. Turning about, he found himself facing an old problem: Lenora Surrey of Slytherin house. Eric thought for a moment that he could mix into the crowd, but it was too late – surely she could tell he had heard the shout. "Eric! I was hoping to see you before the train started off."

He sighed slightly. "Hello Lenora."

She frowned in response. "That's a sour way to greet a friend. Don't you like me anymore?"

Eric wasn't sure how to answer. Lenora had spent the latter months of the last school year twisting his reputation about, only to apologize for it later. Quite honestly, he didn't know what to think, other than a deep desire that she'd leave him alone. He couldn't think clearly with her around, and it often earned him more pain than he desired.

His salvation came in the sound of the train whistle, drawing away Lenora's attention briefly before she turned back to him. "I guess we should board the train. We will talk soon, I hope?" As she turned a corner into one of the passenger cars, Eric leaned against the train and groaned. A part of him still wanted to like Lenora despite the problems they had, and it just gained a reason.

He made his way to the usual berth to settle in before the train started off. It wasn't long before he was joined by his friends. Dorian and Tylena took up the opposing cushion, while he found himself flanked by Naomi and Luna Lovegood. After the train started off and got up to speed, however, Naomi tossed a folded blanket onto the floor by the window then settled down on it, apparently meditating. It wasn't long, however, before something caught Eric's attention. Ever so often, he would hear a buzzing sound, as if a large locust was passing by. It happened four times before he caught a glimpse of the source – a small figure that tended to shoot back and forth between Naomi and the compartment's upper storage bins.

He waited until the object zipped back to her. "Naomi – what was that?"

She furrowed her brow, irritated that her meditations were disrupted. "A small pain." Pulling back her cloak, she revealed to the group a small round iridescent- yellow bird. It's crimson eyes scanned the room as it's head bobbed back and forth.

Dorian was the first to react. "Naomi – that's a Golden Snidget!" The bird responded by shooting upward then zipping about at right angles before coming to rest in the back of the storage bin.

"I know. I don't suppose either of you have a good idea about how to get rid of them?" Eric could only figure that the bird had been in Naomi's company for some time, based on how irritated she sounded. Usually she made a point of hiding how she felt about pretty much everything.

The snidget resumed zipping about the compartment, buzzing by the heads of everyone there. As Naomi sat complacently, Tylena looked to her. "Why is your bird so upset?"

"It would probably have something to do with the other one."

Dorian's head snapped about. "The other one?"

Looking past the zipping bird, Eric could make out a small huddle of feathers in the back of the bin. "Um, Naomi – there's two of them?"

She didn't bother to look up. "Anny and Irrie."

Eric smiled inside. "You named them?"

"Annoying and Irritating. I got them at the Quidditch tournament. It's a weird story."

Luna finally drew herself out of her father's newspaper. "They're illegal, you know."

Naomi gave her a disgusted look. "Just as illegal for me to hurt them in order to rid myself of them, and just as illegal for that peddler to try selling them to Mister Malfoy."

Eric sat back down. "You broke into a deal Lucius Malfoy was making? I'm impressed."

"Anything he could be trying to buy had to be valuable, and was probably going to be used for some unfortunate purpose. I just warped the cage so that they could escape. They've been following me ever since."

Dorian examined the small bird as it watched him intently. "Hey Eric, you see those lines of feathers on this one's head?"

Turning slowly, he looked above him. "Yeah; the small white ones, right?"

"That's them. Did the other one have those?"

Eric rubbed the small scratches on his cheek, not wishing for another set. "I don't think it did."

"That would make sense. We've got a mated pair here."

Naomi sighed in disgust. "Terrific. That means more of them."

The snidgets settled in for the trip, which was a dismally wet one. As the day grew late and they closed in on Hogsmeade, Naomi became concerned. "What am I going to do with them? I can't keep them with me, and they won't go far."

Eric turned to her. "Will they stay under your cape until we get to school?"

She turned to him hesitantly. "I think so."

Eric gathered his books. "We'll stay with you. That way, if they take off, only we will be around to see it. They're probably looking for a place to roost for the season, so we'll show them one. Once they figure out that they have a safe nesting place, they'll leave you alone."

The weather was horrid heading up to the school, which made things simpler. No one questioned Naomi's cloak, and the chaos of trying to dry off allowed Eric and Naomi to sneak off into the lower corridors, back to the old storerooms and Eric's workshop. There was a back room with a vent leading outdoors. It was narrow and hooded, which would prove ideal for the snidgets. He stacked up a pile of twigs from his broom shop, which the birds began to work on. "I'll sneak out to the stables later. There should be something we can set out for feed, at least initially."

As he turned to leave, Naomi set a hand on his arm. "Um, Eric, ... , thanks. I mean, this really helps."

Eric could feel his entire body shiver as his face flushed. "Look, Naomi; about what I said at the camp..."

"It was nothing. I know you didn't mean it." Although she drew her hood up, he could still see her blushing, too.

"Wait, it's not that, I mean, I ... I didn't mean to embarrass you." He thought for a second that he could boil water on his neck; this was getting difficult. Normally Naomi was easy to talk to, but lately there was a world of things he wanted to say, but could never find the right words.

An eternity seemed to pass before she finally spoke again. "We ... should get back to the others."

The evening feast was filled with surprises. The first was the cancellation of the Inter-house Quidditch Cup. Eric looked about and confirmed his suspicions – Oliver Wood was mortified. He was the captain of the Gryffindor team, and had held massively inflated hopes of winning the Cup ever since they picked up Harry Potter as their seeker.

The second surprise was the arrival of Mad-Eye Moody, who was brought in for one year as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Eric wondered if this was a united attempt to both look after Moody ( who had grown increasingly paranoid over the years ), and to fill what was becoming a cursed posting at Hogwarts. The last three instructors had ( in order ) turned out to be a servant of Voldemort, a fraud who ended up hexing himself, and a cursed werewolf. He imagined Dumbledore had a terrible time trying to fill the role.

The third was the upcoming Tri-Wizard Tournament between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Eric had read about the tournament during his studies of wizarding histories. It had generally fell into disfavor due to a relatively high mortality rate. While deaths in wizarding activities – even the ones which are meant as diversions – was an accepted aspect of wizard life, activities that killed children and teenagers were universally disapproved of. Only Quidditch was allowed, and it was kept under tight scrutiny.

The tables were buzzing with junior students plotting how to get into the tournament, even though it was made fairly clear that only adult students would be considered. Eric, however, didn't take it seriously. Of the underage students, the only ones that could possibly defeat the senior students were himself, Naomi, and Neville Longbottom if he could ever get a firm grasp on his potential.

Dorian, however, had greater aspirations. "Do you think we could enter?"

Eric shook his head. "Why would you want to?"

"Gee, the prize isn't incentive enough?" He could see Dorian's eyes gleaming, plotting at what he could do with his own money. He was as much of a merchant as his father, and was more than willing to pursue it.

He smiled back. "Personally, I'm looking forward to the teachers being distracted by the tournament. This means that they won't be watching us as much as before. The potential for creative projects is immense." Eric was already considering ways into the restricted library in order to research a new magical breed. He originally had his thoughts set on a winged snake, even though it had already been done. However, with the arrival of the snidgets, he felt strongly about changing his plans. An annoyingly soft spot in his heart thought they were cute, and he didn't want to do anything to endanger them.

The welcoming feast was to it's usual excellent standards. Eric, though, found that he couldn't enjoy it as much as usual. For two years, sitting with Dorian and Naomi made for a nice social clutch. However, there was a new vibe coming from Naomi, and that was making them all uncomfortable. He knew that there was something growing between them, and that he wanted it to go well. So far, he had managed to fumble every attempt to speak his mind amiably, yet she hadn't given up on him. However, Eric was sure there was something she was holding back, and she was worried.

He wanted to end it – to clear up everything between them so that they could both relax. It wasn't like there really was anyone else. Dorian was happy with Tylena, and Lenora was a pain that Eric really wanted to be rid of. If only he could explain it properly, maybe she would understand. He would have to be careful, though. He had seen her abilities often enough to know that upsetting her could be painful, possibly even fatal.


	15. Chapter 15

Eric's first day back was it's usual hectic schedule of meeting with teachers. He had eight term projects to work on, in subjects ranging from astronomy to zymurgy, with a wealth between. He also had to help Hagrid with his blast-ended skrewts, disgusting creatures which the groundskeeper bred especially. For the life of him, Eric couldn't figure out his guardian's delight over the most vile beasts. It seemed the more offensive the creature, the more Hagrid loved it. At least the hatching went well, with no more than half a dozen small brush fires to show for it.

The snidgets were settling in well. He had snuck in twice since their arrival to check on them, doing his best not to make any noise, for he didn't want to disturb them. This came in handy at the time of his second visit. Instead of finding an empty room, he found Naomi setting up what looked to be a large, faked flower, in which she was pouring a syrupy fluid. He could see that she was lecturing Willy about how to keep the flower maintained and clear of pests. As she backed away, the snidgets flew about for a few seconds before hovering in front of the makeshift contraption to feed. Seeing that everything was going well, Eric snuck back through the door, hoping that no one noticed his entrance.

All of this, however, wasn't taking much time from the thoughts on Eric's mind. He had to talk with the Headmaster. He had spotted Professor Dumbledore a few times since his arrival, but he didn't have a chance to speak with him. Deciding to forego his lunch break, he made his way to the gargoyle, only to realize that the great stone beast wasn't about to move for him. Cursing himself for not looking ahead to this, he had just turned to find Professor Flitwick for help when he heard a gentle voice behind him.

"Something on your mind, Mister Sable?" As he turned about, Eric found himself facing Dumbledore, standing calmly in the corridor which had been completely deserted just a moment before.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Eric responded. "Yes sir; I wanted to ask you about Corvin Frugilagus."

"Ah, I had rather hoped you would; but my office is a far better place for this conversation." Turning to the gargoyle, the Headmaster merely nodded and the statue moved aside, revealing the escalating stairs.

As he entered the office, Eric could see the portraits of all the previous school headmasters, each leaning comfortably. Eric sometimes wondered if the figures in the portraits ever bothered to do anything other than sleep, since that was all that they seemed capable of. Fawkes was on his perch, looking exceptional this year after a burn not too long ago. The Sorting Hat rested on the desk at the moment, looking as perturbed as ever whenever Eric encountered it. He felt in his heart that the hat never forgave him for switching houses, even if he had no choice.

"So, Professor Frugilagus has been in contact with you?" Dumbledore's words were as pleasant, even and friendly as ever.

Eric couldn't tell if this had upset the headmaster or not. " 'Professor' Frugilagus? So he is a teacher?"

"A master of many disciplines, including enchantments, hexes, and curses. He was an instructor here for many years as our last Dark Arts teacher before he left."

Eric was suddenly confused. " 'Dark Arts teacher'? I thought Hogwarts didn't teach the Dark Arts."

Dumbledore smiled. "That was my doing. I rather thought that the Dark Arts had no place in a benevolent school, especially with the way many students that focused on them turned out. Corvin, however, thought otherwise, citing how well students could defend against curses when they knew their nature. His star pupils could even deflect Killing Curses using pure magic, making them virtually unstoppable. I recall that Mrs. Peal was exceptionally good at that."

The thought that his landlady could stand up to Voldemort's most diabolical weapon was impressive. "So why did he leave?"

"As the school's Headmaster, it is up to me to decide what is appropriate to teach. We discussed the matter at length over many days, but could not come to an agreement. Corvin decided that, rather than cause dissention in the staff, he would relent. That, however, meant that he had to leave the school rather than risk becoming bitter over the restrictions. I was reluctant to let him go, but in the end I agreed that it would be best."

It was a relief to hear the Dumbledore speak so highly about Professor Frugilagus. At least he wasn't a disgruntled employee. "So why has he contacted me?"

Dumbledore sat back into his chair, clearly measuring his next words. "Eric, you are one of those rare students with a wealth of intelligence, talent, and curiosity. Along with this you carry a certain disregard for limits imposed on you. It's only a matter of time before you work your way into the Restricted Library to study the Dark Arts on your own.

"I could seek to stop this, perhaps I could even expel you. In the end, though, this would be the wrong thing to do. You would continue to explore and learn, only now Hagrid, Mrs. Peal and myself would not be able to watch over you. The consequences for all of us would be disastrous. This is why I have asked Corvin to return to tutor yourself and a couple of other students. You would still learn of the Dark Arts, but in a proper context."

Eric was beside himself with excitement. "When will we start?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Soon. There are arrangements to be made – after all, I'm breaking my own rules. This can't be general knowledge"

Smiling, Eric got up, thanked the professor and turned to leave before one last question struck him. "Sir, you said a couple of other students?"

Dumbledore got up to retrieve a book from his shelves. "Yes. Sheena Wyldehart has been a pupil of his for some time, and there's one other student with special needs that Corvin's talents are well suited for." He brought the book back to his table and drew it to a marked page. "I don't know if he will see you as a group or as individuals, though. I'm sure he will let you know."


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn't too long before Eric was stopped in the halls by Sheena. "So, you've talked with Professor Dumbledore?" Eric nodded. "So, we've got all those nasty suspicions out of the way? Professor F' wants to get started."

He nodded again. "So, where are classes?"

Her face drew into a slightly comical frown. "Well, that's the catch. Professor Dumbledore wants us to be low-profile. No one's supposed to know we're taking extra classes. How can we arrange this?"

Eric thought for just a moment. "Well, the dungeon's the obvious place. No one uses it for punishments anymore, so it's low-traffic."

Sheena started to smirk. "Ok, you're so smart – name two secure but safe places we can meet."

Eric fought to be as deadpan as possible. "The room of Erised and the Chamber of Secrets."

Her jaw dropped at his response, then her voice came out as a whisper. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. The Chamber's empty now, and the defenses to the Philosopher's stone are only partially dismantled. We could re-arrange the trap sequence to suit us, then map a path to the Chamber from there."

The idea seemed to appeal to her. "But, I thought only the Heir of Slytherin could get into the Chamber."

Eric was undeterred. "Harry Potter gained access. It must be a parselmouth thing, which means I can do it, too."

Her eyes began to gleam mischievously. "You're sure there's no more basilisks?"

He stuck his tongue out briefly. "Hatching a basilisk is no small thing. Most times, sticking a chicken egg under a toad gets you a wet, dead chicken egg. Basilisks don't breed – they can only be created."

The scheme was agreed to, and Sheena promised to bring Corvin's other student to help with the clean up that evening. The rest of the day's activities went by in a blur as the excitement of doing something new, challenging, and just a little bit against the rules grew up inside him.

That evening, he snuck down to the bottom of the main staircase to meet with the other students. It wasn't long before Sheena arrived with a dark figure. However, Eric had seen this silhouette far too often to mistake it. "Naomi?"

A welcome monotone replied. "You were expecting Dorian, maybe? So, how do we get in?"

Turning into the shadows, Eric found the access door. "This way." The staircase he led them down would end with a series of storage compartments. On the last landing, however, he tapped his wand on three plain bricks, which resulted in the wall parting swiftly and silently for the group of them.

Entering the corridor, it was only a few dozen yards before they approached the room under the third floor trapdoor. Here lay a pile of Devil's Snare, horribly unfed and wilting. Choosing the better part of caution, they nevertheless cursed it all to withered twigs before clearing the corridor completely. "We'll need to burn it all as a precaution. I'm sure Professor Sprout was just going to let it whither, but we can't have it growing back."

The next room was empty, the troll residing in it having been returned to the Forbidden Forest. "You know, a simple darkness spell would make a formidable defense for this room. After all, adventurous students exploring dark rooms usually find evil things that eat them in such places." They agreed to cast it later, using the keystones in the entrance and exit archways as anchors. They also noted that the base stones of the arches would need wards cast on them to prevent incursions by any malevolent creatures looking for a home.

The next was the key room. Spotting the desired key, Naomi took the initiative. "_Dilatux!"_ A blue streak from her wand struck the key, slowing it considerably. Eric followed up afterward. "_Snara!" _A golden strand zipped from his wand tip to encircle the key, drawing back to him.

Sheena seemed slightly disappointed. "With all your work with brooms, I thought you'd be interested in catching it."

He sneered at the thought. "On those old things? It would take forever."

Next was the chessboard. Fortunately, over two years of disuse had resulted in a stalling in the enchantments, and the chessmen just sat along the wall, apparently too tired and beaten to move. Sheena looked over to the others. "You want to re-animate them?"

Eric looked at the possibilities. "Not as a chess game, but as a defensive line. Let me think about it."

Snape's potions were waiting for them, but there seemed no reason to stop. Whatever barriers resulted in the necessity of these bottles had long-since dispelled. All that remained was the Mirror of Erised, which still remained where it was in the otherwise empty room.

Sheena shifted uneasily, then started to look along the walls. "I'll check for other exits."

Waiting for her to move away, Naomi closed in on Eric. "What's gotten into her?"

"The mirror – it's supposed to be cursed. There have been wizards so fixated on the images it shows that they died in front of it." He sensed that Naomi immediately became uncomfortable. "Relax, it isn't a curse. It was made by a wizard who wanted to understand himself, and was brave and wise enough to understand what he found. The mirror just shows you what you want most."

She looked up at him. "So what's the curse?"

"The curse is that it doesn't give you any more information than that. Let's say I wanted most of all to be rich and famous – the mirror would depict me as rich and famous, that's all. No hints about how I could make all those things happen." He turned back to the mirror. "An image of your hearts desire – that's all you get. All you have to do is accept what you've learned and walk away."

There was only a moment's hesitation before the two of them went up to the mirror to look. It took only a second for an image to appear, and only a minute to sort out what it meant. Eric couldn't help but smile at the result; he never thought of himself as that decent a person.

Naomi was more than anxious. "What do you see?"

Eric smiled. "I see myself in an open field, basking in the sun while twirling a wand in my fingers. Willy's brought me iced tea and some cakes."

Naomi turned to him. "That's it?"

"Are you kidding? I've got no worries – not a care in the world. Just me, a warm afternoon, and some nice desserts." He looked back at her. "What do you see?"

Her monotone voice had returned. "I just see us."


	17. Chapter 17

The work on the entryway didn't take long. The darkness and ward spells were up within the night. The flying keys were replaced by the mirror, with the door rebuilt out of solid oak. The key mechanism was replaced by a simple mechanical lock with a disenchantment hex to block spells. It was actually quite the trap – someone seeking to get through the door would see themselves getting through, but without any suggestions as to how.

The flames were returned to the final room, but Snape's potions were replaced by a simple phrase. "The commonality between a chess piece, an owl, and a legal body." A proper answer cleared all passages, one which lead to the dungeon room, and a new side corridor leading to a drainage line that terminated next to the Chamber of Secrets.

Once all the barriers were re-created, it hadn't taken long to convert the dungeon rooms to a class area. Professor Frugilagus was impressed. "Discreet, private, and well suited to our needs. I commend you."

Eric smiled to his new teacher. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you need two rooms?"

"The Chamber of Secrets is a good choice, though we really should replace the door with something more fitting for us. You see, I'm going to have Sheena teach you how to fight."

Eric turned his head slightly. "She's going to teach me?"

Corvin looked down to him. "Don't underestimate her for a second. Sheena's a fierce combatant. Even more, she's developed her own styles of fighting. I doubt that anyone could stand up to her for long."

"I didn't mean it like that. I was wondering how I was going to explain the broken bones to the school nurse."

The professor smiled. "That's better. Don't worry, she won't hurt you too much. It is important, however, that you learn how to fight. We'll start with hand to hand, and move on to swords as soon as possible."

This was becoming more frightening by the second. "Swords?"

Corvin put his hand on Eric's shoulder. "You see, Eric, the difference between myself and Professor Dumbledore is that I teach comprehension, not results. Most schools teach results; that is, how things work. I prefer to work with students willing to look below to understand why things work. The results are less predictable, but more gratifying.

"Now, I won't hide anything from you. Albus and I believe that there's something happening – something sinister. We are both working with those we associate with to prepare. In your case, it means that I am to take over primary responsibility for your education, to train you to defend yourself – and eventually to fight back. Your combat training will teach you about how to fight, so that you will be able to engage the enemy not just as a wizard, but as a warrior. This should give you quite the advantage."

To be sure, Sheena wasn't a gentle instructor. She especially liked the Chamber, as it had the right mood for teaching combat, the floor made fights more challenging, and landing on it hurt – an excellent incentive for improvement, in her opinion. Everything she taught was focused on balance: how to keep it for yourself and how to take it away from your opponent. Setting an opponent off balance and on the ground put them at their attacker's mercy. This was a position Eric found himself in on a regular basis.

During one such incident, Eric felt a bit more humiliation than usual. "How long will this have to go on?"

"Until you get it right." She smirked back at him. "Hey, don't feel so bad. You're actually improving considerably."

"I don't suppose there's a way to make this less humiliating?" He returned to a prime stance to try again.

Her response was to move far faster than before, sending him back to the ground far more quickly but less painfully than before. "Introduce me to George Weasley."

For a moment, Eric was sure he had hit the ground harder than it had felt. "Huh?"

She paused for a moment, setting her hands on her hips. "I want to meet George Weasley. He's fun, and he's cute!"

He gathered his wits together before rising again. "Does it really make a difference whether or not it's George?"

She drew his arm past her before tripping him up, sending him sailing across the chamber. "Of course, you dope – Fred's hot for Angelina Johnson."


	18. Chapter 18

In the middle of all the drama in Eric's life, he was trying to work on his term papers, developing subjects and outlines. Professor Frugilagus promised that he wouldn't require such work, but his methods weren't any less difficult. The Dark Arts were intricate, and required a thorough understanding of the forces involved. Failure to take every detail into account resulted in unpredictable consequences, an aspect which explained why most Dark Wizards had serpent eyes or other unpleasant features. These weren't deliberate, but the results of mistakes made over one too many attempts to gain power.

With all of his class load swirling in his head, it was no wonder that Eric was far too distracted during one climb of the stairs, resulting in a collision with Katie Bell. "Oh, dreadfully sorry!"

As always, Katie was more than just nice. "Please, it's no trouble. How have you been?"

He blushed slightly at this. "Keeping busy. I suppose you're disappointed about the Inter-house Cup?"

She smiled. "Actually, Angelina's taken it much harder than the rest of us. She's next up to be captain, and it's going to be a whole year before the team re-forms. We're going to be out of practice, and she's at least as driven as Oliver ever was."

Eric could hardly imagine such a thing. Oliver Wood was the most obsessive team captain that Hogwarts had ever seen. "Can't you just practice?"

She sank back. "With who? The rest of the school is all wrapped up in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. No one wants to play."

Eric was undeterred – he finally had a chance to repay the Gryffindor team for their kindness. "Let me see what I can do."

It wasn't as hard as he expected to get a team together. Sheena and Dorian were especially keen on being beaters, while Tylena and Naomi took roles as chasers with Neville Longbottom. Although he protested quite strongly about not being able to play, Eric was insistent. "You don't have to be good – we have two other chasers already, and this is just about keeping the Gryffindor team fit. You want that, don't you?"

Naomi was unimpressed. "What about a Seeker?"

It took a moment for an answer. "Mary Zefer."

Dorian turned to him. "Who?"

"She's a second-year Hufflepuff. Her eyes might not be the best, but she's fast on a broom. Besides, that would make the team totally even: we'd have players from every house in the school." His enthusiasm was infectious, and soon the rest of the group was smiling. Once Mary agreed, the Interhouse Irregulars were formed.

They practiced for a few weeks, getting their patterns together. Sheena took over as captain, stating very clearly that being totally outmatched was no reason not to seek a personal best. Neville actually played fairly well if the team kept him busy. It was when he had time to think that his flying became shaky. Naomi and Tylena took turns buzzing about him to keep him distracted, passing the quaffle back and forth. Dorian and Sheena were murderous when it came to bludgers – each would focus on keeping one or the other off the field. Mary was only mediocre as a seeker, but the rest of the team was more than supportive. This was, after all, just about having fun, and after a while she got to the point that she could retrieve the snitch in short order, once she caught sight of it.

Finally, the team took on the Gryffindors on the first weekend in October. The crowd that gathered was small, but that suited both teams. Everyone, including the Irregulars, were sure this would be a massacre; and the fewer witnesses the better.

Although the game ended in a dismal score of sixty to three-hundred and forty, Eric actually managed fairly well as a Keeper, blocking about a third of the shots taken. Having lost their Keeper without replacing him, the Gryffindors evened the game by playing without. Still, their Chasers kept all but a quarter of the Irregulars' attempts from actually scoring. This, however, gained them thanks from Angelina Johnson, who came to realize that it would be helpful to learn how to play with the team short key elements.

The most entertaining part of the game was Sheena and George Weasley. They had managed to tie up a bludger between them for nearly the entire game, and had begun to spin slowly about each other as they knocked it back and forth. As he put the equipment away, Eric noted that the bludger in question seemed somewhat subdued. He wondered if an enchanted iron ball could become dizzy.

After the game, everyone came out to shake hands. Angelina was bubbling with joy. "It really was a lot of fun. We'll do it a couple more times this year?" The Irregulars agreed, weather permitting. As everyone packed up, Sheena drew George aside, apparently talking tactics. As odd as it was to see a Weasley talking to anyone from Slytherin house, it was amusing to watch Sheena actually seem embarrassed while talking to someone.

Once Eric had the Quidditch equipment stowed, he started to make his way to the library. He needed to follow up on some research. His path, however, was blocked by Hermoine Granger. "Excuse me, you're Eric Sable, right?"

He sighed deeply inside. Every time somebody knew his name, his life became more complicated. "That's right."

"Are you aware that there are hundreds of slaves currently maintaining this school, with hundreds more throughout the world trapped in bonded servitude?"

He suddenly felt a headache growing. "Um, I lived here for eleven years. I've never seen anyone have to do anything against their will – with the usual exception of the students."

"What about the enslaved creatures that maintain the castle, set out the food, and perform all the chores of the school without compensation or thanks?" She was clearly quite serious.

It took him a moment to figure out what she was talking about. "Ok, you're talking about the house elves, right?"

A huge smile broke out on her face. "That's right! Hundreds of creatures locked into servitude. All because unjust wizards wish to maintain a place of dominance in the world."

Eric's headache was beginning to grow. "Hermoine, have you ever spoken to any of the elves?"

"Only one or two. They seem dreadfully misguided."

"Well, if they are misguided, they are pretty much stuck there. If you try to talk them out of their servitude, they get, well, rather upset." He began to make his way up the hallway.

"So you believe in this slavery?"

He turned back to her. "There is no slavery. It's the way they are. Their whole mindset and sense of worth is based in the service of others – a school, a family, or a person. I mean, they should be treated with as much kindness as we can offer them, since they are completely giving. But, as far as freeing them, they'd be without purpose, which totally ruins their lives."

"But you believe they should be treated well?" She began to smile.

Eric could sense a trap, but not avoid it. "Well, yes – we should treat all beings and creatures with regard."

She whipped out a large button. "So, you'd be willing to join S.P.E.W.?"

He was suddenly very annoyed. "Spew?"

Her face wrinkled up. "S.P.E.W.: The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare!"

He began to rub his temples. "I don't suppose you could make that name any more comically disgusting?"

"Well!" She turned on her heels and stomped away. Eric felt really sorry for offending her, but he was just too tired to be more careful with his words; having suddenly become aware that, before he could go near any group of people, he really needed a shower.


	19. Chapter 19

As the days approached the end of October, the whole school was buzzing with excitement. The contenders from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were arriving on the 30th, and much was expected.

First: word of the Interhouse Irregulars had spread, and other houses were asking the team to play to help their practices for the year. It helped that they didn't have to be any good. They made a point of turning down the Slytherin team for one simple reason – they played on their own terms, to have fun. Being used for bludger target practice simply wasn't fun.

Second: Professor Frugilagus was demanding extra effort in his Dark Arts studies. Eric had protested more than once that he had to work on his term papers if he expected them to get done, only to be told without question that his tutored studies came first. "I do not speak lightly when I say that you will soon need the abilities I'm trying to develop in you."

Third: Professor Dumbledore specifically asked Eric to help the house-elves craft quarters for their visiting guests. The magic that came with the staff was more than capable of fashioning the rooms appropriately; but there were nuances in the crafting that Dumbledore wanted done perfectly, and that required someone adept at both magic and carpentry. Eric was the only qualified person for miles.

Although the exercise was draining, it did give him the inspiration for his Transfiguration paper: "Basic Metamorphic Alteration of Organic Matter Within Current State – _a practical study of the issues and applications for transfiguration from natural state to a simulation of crafted _". He was rather proud of the paper, for it dealt with the finer points of turning things not so much into completely different items for no good purpose, but turning raw materials into finished products. By the time the big day arrived, the rooms were ready and a hundred and twenty-two pages were written.

When the envoys from the other schools arrived, it was quite the occasion. The whole school was assembled in front of the main entrance to welcome their visitors, who arrived in classic wizard style. He couldn't help but envy the other schools, who got to demonstrate the abilities of their staff by creating such elaborate means of transportation. He wondered what Hogwarts would have done if given the chance.

The students were called indoors to a joint feast, but Eric heard a voice behind him. "Hey, lad – I need yer help!" Turning back, he saw Hagrid discretely call him over. "How've yeh been boy? I haven' had a decent chance to talk with yeh since yeh came back."

Eric was thrilled to know that his guardian hadn't forgotten about him. He knew that Hagrid had more responsibilities, and he had his own classes. These things pulled them apart, but he missed his adoptive uncle. "Well enough. I've been rather busy with term papers."

"Of course yeh have. Haven' been gettin' into trouble, now, have yeh?" Eric was careful to answer with an exasperated no. "Well, that's fer the best. We don' want any more problems, now do we? Now, we got teh stable these horses – ain't they beautiful?"

Eric was dubious. "How are we going to keep them?"

"I've got stables all prepared. Only thing is, the team has teh be kept here while I take 'em in one at a time. Yeh feel up teh it?"

Eric felt far more up to dinner, but he couldn't disappoint Hagrid. Excusing himself for a second, he searched out a gnarled tree branch. Setting it into the ground and balancing his crystal on top of it, he drew out his wand. "_Ceangailin!" _The celtic growth spell drew the sphere up and over until it dangled in front of the team. "Hagrid cover your eyes... _Fixatiux Illuminem!"_ The crystal began to glow an iridescent blue-white. All the creatures began to stare at it, appearing to lose all interest in anything.

Eric crossed over to Hagrid. "They should be docile enough now. Just be sure not to look at the light, or I'll have to snap you out of it. Oh, and expect trouble, for they won't want to leave the light."

"I knew I was right in callin' yeh – yer a clever one!" Hagrid unhitched the first. Sure enough, it did struggle as it was drawn away, but Hagrid was more than a match for it. Eric sighed, for he was going to miss the feast. The spell might need maintenance, and he had to snap Hagrid away from the light more than once. Besides that, he had to retrieve his crystal. Willy made up for it by bringing out a plate for him. He'd still miss the company, but at least the food was available.

Hagrid finished his work, then sat down on the school's front steps. "Yeh, there's nuthin' as satisfyin' as workin' wi' some beautiful beasties. Eh, boy?" He patted a heavy hand on Eric's shoulder.

"Uh, Hagrid? There's something I should tell you." He proceeded to relate the tale of the snidgets, making a point of taking responsibility himself. "You see, if the Ministry finds them, I'll be rather in a deep mess. I didn't mean to catch them or anything, but now they're kind of in my care."

"Don' you worry none, boy. Yeh did the right thin'. Tell yeh what; make a project o' carin' for them, an' we'll call that yer term work. If anybody finds 'em, Ah'll say I gave yeh the job."

Eric did his best to remain calm, settling for giving Hagrid as big a hug as he could. Solving two problems at once was as much as he could hope for.

It was nearly Eight in the evening when Eric made the climb to Madame Trelawney's. He had completed his Divination term paper; one discussing particular mechanisms of divination as they relate to fatalism versus self determination. He made a point of working on his papers in series, rather than simultaneously. This, unfortunately, meant that he was behind schedule, but Divination was the hardest paper to research. The others would pass far more quickly.

Examining the classroom, it took him a minute to find the professor, who was laughing with merriment over two recent homework assignments. "Those boys – they have to think that I'm a blithering idiot!"

Eric was only slightly embarrassed to be listening in. "Excuse me – who?"

She turned to him and smiled. "Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Their predictions for the coming months are the most disaster-ridden tales of woe I've ever read. No one could suffer this much distress and possibly live."

"So are you going to mark them for it?"

She set the papers down and took off her glasses. "No, dear boy. While I admit that neither of them take my classes seriously, the fact is that while they don't have divinating gifts, the curriculum requires that they take my class, at least to fill a slot until they find something more suited to them. The least I can do is humor the system until they find their way to better things. To help them pass the time, I let them turn the class from 'Divination' to 'Creative Writing', and grade them on their ability to mix imagination with proper scale."

Eric sat back onto one of the cushions. Admittedly, the professor's actions seemed a bit convoluted, but she couldn't let anyone know that she really wasn't gifted. Her ability to maintain control of her classes depended on their belief in her abilities.

She cleared off her desk. "Ok, set up your crystal." Eric drew out a small sphere and stand, setting them between himself and the professor. "I want you to focus; see the crystal – just the crystal on the desk." Eric did his best to comply. "Now, draw yourself away from the image, slowly." As he concentrated, the crystal began to hold an image of itself, like an infinite reflection. "Excellent. Now draw further away, see yourself, then the room, then the school."

At each step, Eric could see more and more about the space around him. Simple, general things. As he watched, Madame Trelawney continued. "You see, this is how a wizard can see a place which he knows nothing about. He starts at a known focus and works his way out. Seek a room where you've never been before..." She suddenly noted a smirk grow on Eric's face. "Behave yourself, Dear!"

Accepting his teacher's discipline, he instead shifted the image to Filch's room. True, he knew where in the castle it was, but it was a place he wasn't familiar with. There he saw the caretaker mumbling to himself, searching through a collection of items while muttering angrily. In the depths of his mind he could hear a muttering voice – "Where is it? Where did that cursed map get to?"

Backing away, he saw the whole of the school again. He then shut his eyes to close the vision. The professor nodded with satisfaction. "That's how divination wizards see places they've never been to. They start with a known item or place, and work their way outward. Much the same as you did to get to the Quidditch World Cup." Eric did all he could to keep from reacting to that, but Trelawney didn't bother to hide what she knew. "There, there, dear. Most of the teachers know of your shenanigans. Your mischief has a certain quality to it. However, since you covered your tracks well, there's nothing that can be proved. We're willing to overlook it, but we'd appreciate it if you would consider not being quite so adventurous."

The rest of the session was an exercise, finding where precisely Hogwarts was in the world by working his way back to Hogsmeade, grabbing the train track to London, then working back to Diagon Alley. It took well over an hour, but Eric proved that he could do it. Using what he learned, he mapped not only where Hogwarts was, but how the train line passed to London and where in the Kings Crossing station it entered.

Madame Trelawney was more than pleased. "You've made so much progress! What might you do with your gift?"

Eric shrugged. "To be honest, I haven't put any thought into it."

"Well, the Ministry of Magic is always looking for Seekers to ferret out some of the nastier things Dark Wizards keep in their cupboards." She virtually beamed with pride.

Eric didn't want to tell her that he had no intentions of entering the Ministry. Far too much had already happened for that to ever be a possibility.


	20. Chapter 20

There had been a great deal of planning that went into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Months of effort, negotiation and preparation – all meant to result in a smooth and safe competition. Anyone examining that effort would have though it impossible that anything drastic could go wrong. However, it was becoming clear that when Harry Potter was in the vicinity, all bets were off.

The uproar that followed the announcement that Harry would be the fourth Tournament champion was considerable. While there were several students supported the idea that a rogue could beat the system, many more were getting sick and tired of Harry's antics. A considerable smear campaign was building up, with Harry as the target.

Eric was, admittedly, glad that the heat was pointed elsewhere. Glad, that is, until he found Harry hidden outside of the dungeon entrance to Corvin's classrooms. Eric's concern that Harry was searching for him quickly vanished, though. He wanted the spot for the same reason that Eric picked it originally; it was secluded.

Although he was sure that Harry would have rather been left alone, Eric had to get past him. "Hey – how are you doing?"

Harry didn't bother to turn around. "Go away."

"Love to, but you're in my sulking spot. You need to find your own."

He turned to Eric, his eyes burned red. "I didn't enter the tournament!"

Eric shrugged. "I never said you did."

Harry blinked twice. "You believe me?"

Eric sat across from him. "Harry, I've lived in this castle for most of my life; I've seen a lot of strange things and met stranger people. I've also met a lot of students and have gotten to know how they think based on how they act. If you were the type of student to break every rule just because you wanted to, I'd know it.

"You're a magnet for trouble: you've been so for your whole life and you know it. If something bad is going to strike Hogwarts, you're in the middle of it. It's not your fault, but you bear the brunt of the damage because, by intent or accident, you end up involved. You've got too much initiative."

Harry growled back, "But I didn't do anything!"

"Doesn't matter, you're stuck where you are." He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him towards the stairs. "Look; I've got a secret trap door down here leading to a plethora of evil experiments – zombie albino ferrets, bloodsucking demon bats, the usual. If I let you see what I'm doing, I'd have to kill you. However, let me assure you that not everyone in the school is out to get you. If you run out of people to talk to, I'll sneak you out to Hogsmeade and we'll take the night off."

Harry started walking back to the upper floors. "Thanks."

Eric waved him off. "Anytime." Once he was sure that Harry was up the stairs and out of sight, he went back to meet with Corvin; tinkering with the idea of zombie albino ferrets or bloodsucking demon bats.

This time all three of Professor Frugilagus' students were gathered. The professor waived him in. "Good evening, all of you. We have a special project to work on. Professor Dumbledore believes that the circumstances surrounding the four champions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament are, to say the least, suspicious. Since we are the resident experts in dark magic, the Headmaster has asked us to examine the evidence and answer the question of how this happened."

The group of them were presented with the Goblet of Fire, a list of the incantations guarding it, and the four parchments selected. The three of them began a three-day exercise examining all the items, trying to find how the wards were defeated. This proved fruitless, however, as every item and incantation were without flaw or curse.

Sheena was the first to express her frustration. "This is ridiculous! I can't believe there's not a clue here."

Eric turned to her. "Maybe there is, but it's too subtle."

Naomi, however, offered the key thought. "Eric, you've defeated every spell and rule that's crossed you. How would you have done it?"

"Actually, I never defeated any of the spells, I just worked around them. Things are much simpler that way."

They all mulled that thought over before Naomi chimed in. "Give me the parchments for Cedric and Harry." She picked up a magnifying glass and examined the letters closely. "Here's the key – the school name."

Sheena looked over the two slips. "I don't get it. They both say 'Hogwarts'."

Naomi set them down and motioned for Eric to come over. "Not exactly. Harry's slip is written in old gothic calligraphy. I thought it was kind of odd, but dismissed it figuring that Harry was trying to be clever. Now, look at the letters on Harry's slip: the pen strokes for the 'w' aren't joined properly. It doesn't say 'Hogwarts', it says 'Hogviarts'."

Eric looked over. "Does it really make that much difference?"

She sat back. "In the muggle world, we have machines called computers. They can do a lot of things, but it all comes down to handling information. One of the things they can do is take a bunch of names and sort them out by groups. That's the same thing the goblet does; it takes all the names it's given and groups them, selecting one champion from each group.

"Now, let's say the goblet is like a computer – it can only work with the information it's given. The parchments it received identify four schools, therefore it needs to provide four champions." She sat back in her chair. "Harry is the sole entry for a champion of a non-existent school."

Sheena looked over to Eric. "Ok, Naomi's got how Harry's name showed up. Can you tell us how it got in the goblet?"

"Harry was raised muggle like Naomi, so he might have figured out how to trick the goblet too. However, there is the age limiter; so if we assume that all spells worked as they should, Harry couldn't have done it himself. Assuming the goblet worked properly, the parchment would have to be entered in the usual way. That means the culprit would have to be someone who could approach the goblet – an adult student, or maybe one of the instructors."

Sheena looked to him. "Not bad. Next question is why?"

"Harry says it wasn't him, and I believe him. Someone else has a motive, maybe to discredit Hogwarts, or maybe to discredit the tournament, if they felt that they weren't being fairly considered. I know that most of the Durmstrang students were resentful of Viktor Krum. He's kind of the Headmaster's pet boy."

She looked back. "Perhaps, or maybe to liven the tournament news by adding a few twists. Rita Skeeter's pen has been gleefully spilling venom for the past two months. This would be just her sort of thing."

Naomi offered the next thought. "Perhaps to kill Harry, or at least to humiliate him."

A voice came out from behind them. "All possible motives. I commend your efforts." Professor Frugilagus walked into their group. "I'm glad to see that Albus' confidence in us is not misplaced. You have all done well. So, all we have to do is to sort out our suspects. How many are there?"

They all sagged back in their chairs. Eric decided to explain. "With the motives available, the possible suspects come down to anyone who could have gotten a name into the goblet. That would be the whole of the Hogwarts staff – yourself included, any of the visiting adults, the two dozen visiting students, and the whole of the Hogwarts seniors. So, any ideas how to discretely and politely interrogate about seventy people?"

Sheena and Eric looked at one another with an air of depression. Naomi simply sank into her hood.


	21. Chapter 21

The question of the Tri-Wizard Tournament had to be put on hold for a while. Eric had to finish three remaining papers demonstrating a mastery of fourth-year principles for the Hogwarts instructors, and there was his studies with Professor Frugilagus to cover. The tournament provided ample cover for his usual studies, and his talents with spell theory managed to keep him from needing any references from the Restricted section, at least for the time being.

The holiday season was approaching, and Eric was doing his best to be invisible. He had word that Lenora Surrey was looking for him, and he didn't want to be found. Between back hallways and discretion charms, he had managed to keep out of sight for a month. He knew, however, that he couldn't keep things up indefinitely.

There was something about Lenora he couldn't put his finger on. The way she treated him was something like a yo-yo; pulling him close only to cast him away again. He wanted to understand why before having to encounter her again.

He was pondering this in the library when Naomi interrupted his thoughts. "Hi. Can you help me with this? I'm having trouble sorting out these leaf formations for Herbology." Eric looked at the leaf patterns, and pointed out the distinctions. "Thank you; I should probably take things from here." She folded up her papers, then looked straight at him. You know, the Yule Ball is in a few weeks."

Eric looked back at her. "I would've thought you weren't interested in that sort of thing."

"Well, usually not, but the Weird Sisters are going to be there. I hear they're really good, only third years can't go unless they're invited by an older student."

Eric was mildly amused at her slightly apprehensive expression. He decided to take a lesson from Riley O'Padraigh and play it for all it was worth. "Naomi – could you find it in your heart to honor this most unworthy soul, and accept this invitation to the Yule Ball?" Her slight smile and nod was worth the trouble. "Excellent. I shall meet you in the common room at, say Six?"

She shuffled out of her seat. "That's fine. I hope you'll excuse me, but I forgot some things back in my Dormitory." Eric actually made a point of getting out of his chair to help her gather her things before she left. It just seemed the thing to do.

He settled back to the books he was reading, but didn't get far along before another shadow robbed the light. Lenora had finally found him. "Where have you been? I know you don't follow a usual class schedule, but I figured that you would have to come out to eat."

"I've been busy. My last few papers haven't developed as easily as I hoped."

She plopped into the chair across from him. "So – when were you going to ask me to the Yule Ball?"

Eric felt his stomach knot up. "I'm sorry, but I'm already going with someone else?"

Lenora's eyes darkened. "Someone else? Who could you possibly find to take to the Ball?"

He started to feel his temper rise. "You've seemed interested in me for a while. Now you're suggesting that I'm not worth going out with?"

"Obviously not, if that's how you're going to treat me!" She stormed out of the library, slamming the doors. Eric shrugged – the whole scene went a lot smoother than he anticipated.

By the evening of the Ball, he had managed to get all his papers done and had found time to work with Willy on making some formals. They were older in style, ruffled in the front with laced sleeves, but it was all black. The only color that could be found on the garment was the Ravenclaw emblem on his cloak. Looking in a mirror, he had to smile. Sheena's combat exercises had kept him so fit, he actually looked good in formals.

There was no way, however, that he could have been a match for Naomi. She was dressed in black formal, too. However, her dress was fashioned as a corseted evening gown with a wide hood and cape. From a distance, her silhouette appeared as a great, black owl. Up close, however, the effect was stunning.

As they joined the crowd at the Yule Ball, Eric took in the scene for a minute. Between the noise and the conversations, the sound was deafening. Taking time to pick out certain people, he found that Cedric was dancing with Cho Chang, while Viktor Krum had taken Hermoine Granger. Panning away from the champions, he saw that Sheena had apparently hooked up with George Weasley. At least, he hoped that was George.

Looking over to Naomi, he was becoming more than a little nervous. "Do you want to dance?"

She shook her head briefly. "Actually, I could use a drink." She looked more pale than normal, and her voice was unreasonably shaky.

Eric tried to lead her through the crowd to the punch, but it was slow going, and they were constantly bumping into people. They were only half-way to the table before she broke away from him, making a straight dash for the nearest exit.

He thought about chasing after her, but decided to get drinks first. Obtaining two small cups of punch, he exited the hall. Looking about but seeing no one, he drew out his crystal ball. With a bit of concentration, he found that she had bolted upwards, into the loft above the main hall. Collecting the cups, he made his way slowly and carefully until he could see her. As she starred down at the crowd, he could hear soft sobs coming from her hood.

"I used to come up here a lot." He waited until she took one of the cups from him and began sipping slowly. "I can remember the last five sortings before I started, and who won the House Cup. It was most often Slytherin, but I seem to remember one Ravenclaw victory a long time ago."

"I shouldn't have asked to be invited. You could have asked someone else, then you'd still be able to have a good time." She hadn't looked at him the whole time, but her unhappiness was evident.

"Naomi, there's no one I would've rather asked. I really like you, a lot." He couldn't believe that he was admitting all of that.

"Eric, there's something you have to know. There's a reason why I say and do strange things. ... I'm a Legilimens."

Eric let it sink in for a while before responding. "Well, that does explain a lot. You've always seemed to be one up on any conversation."

Naomi's voice shook; she was on the verge of tears. "I don't mean to do it! It happens automatically. That's why I can't stand the crowd downstairs. You hear the noise of the band and the conversations. I hear the band, the conversations, and a thousand petty thoughts swirling around me. I've been trying to study Occlumency, hoping that if I couldn't avoid their thoughts, maybe I could close them out of mine. It has worked, but only sort of."

He sat down beside her. "I don't understand. I thought Leilimency only works if you meet someone's gaze."

She sighed deeply. "Not always, and I usually don't pick up proper thoughts. It's like constantly hearing people whisper in a quiet room. You can't make out what they're saying, but you know that someone's there. After a while, it can get maddening"

She sipped slightly before continuing. "It has it's advantages. I've always known that you like me; and I know what you're really thinking instead of having to depend on just what you do. It's helped me to go easy on you lately. By the way, you do know that Lenora's just trying to use you, right?"

Eric smirked at her. "I don't suppose you've picked up on why?"

"She's trying to date Draco Malfoy, only he's too self-centered to be interested in her unless she was making eyes on somebody else. Look at that." Down in the crowd, Draco was sulking furiously as Lenora danced with Crabbe. "The slug has got two left feet and she's horribly embarrassed to be there, but she's finally gotten Draco's attention."

"You can tell all that from here?"

"Only that Draco's paying attention now, and I don't need to be a Legimens to see that. The rest is obvious based on the situation, if you know how to read people."

"So much depends on being able to read people. I don't have enough of a talent, while you have too much. I guess we're both doomed."

She pressed against his side. "You've been able to figure me out well enough. Maybe we should just stick together."

He settled his arm around her shoulders. "Seems good to me." Looking about, he saw that they had the loft to themselves. "You know, there's enough room to dance here, though I'm not very good at it."

She looked up at him. "I know better than that, Eric Sable; but no, I don't want to dance. Remember when we both stood in front of the Mirror of Erised?"

He paused uncertainly. "Yes."

"Well, I told the truth when I said I just saw the two of us. What I didn't tell you was, we were a bit more like this." She spun herself around to face him. "You're not going to turn into a wolf on me, are you?"

Eric's heart was racing. This was the most uncomfortable situation he had ever been in, but he wanted nothing more than to stay. "Um, it's pretty unlikely. Quarter-bloods like myself aren't as subject to a werewolf's curse as purebloods or bite victims. I've been studying techniques to control it, but I probably won't pursue it. As long as I don't try to become a wolf, I can probably avoid problems for life."

"Good." Setting her head on his shoulder, she settled him against a wall. They ended up spending the whole evening in the loft, listening to the music and occasionally watching the dancers while enjoying the peace of each other's company. When midnight came, they found an abandoned route back to the main staircase. From there it was a quick turn to the Ravenclaw common room, where a surprise note waited for him.

The Romuls had been in the neighborhood. They couldn't stay, but they left all of Eric's gear in a small cave just inside the Forbidden Forest, easy to reach in daylight. In addition, Grandmother Frona left a Christmas gift: the broom Eric modified at the Tournament.


	22. Chapter 22

The Yule Ball pretty much put an end to Lenora's presence in Eric's life. While she did approach him once or twice, he no longer minded telling her flat out that he was too busy. Naomi was a far more stable companion, even if Evelyn disapproved of her.

"Now Eric, I know she's a girl with means, but really! Her father is a muggle, and her mother's a squib!"

"And she's probably the most powerful Legilimens this school has seen in ages. So what?" Eric had been mildly aware that his mother held certain prejudices, but he was really hoping that she'd be more understanding.

"So – the Pureblood houses are those who have less problems in times of trouble!" She seemed quite fervent in her opinions. "Marriages with muggles or squibs result in families without ties or anchors. They're alone in a world containing extremely powerful forces that stand against them."

"Geez, mum, I'm only fourteen, or maybe fifteen!"

"Fifteen, dear; you were born in October."

"Swell. That doesn't change the fact that I'm hardly thinking about getting married!"

"So, you were just spending the night with her in the loft above the Great Hall?"

"It was comfortable and not too loud, and she's nice. It's not like we _did_ anything!" Eric was suddenly embarrassed at the thought, wondering what other people would say if anyone else learned where he was for the whole Yule Ball.

"Well, see that you don't! I want what's best for my son, not some second-rate mind reader. Do you hear me?"

Eric tore the crystal from his neck in disgust. He couldn't believe that his mother was ever that bigoted. He spent several minutes trying to clear the memory from his mind. New Year's Day was coming up – the first that Naomi was going to spend away from her family. Eric decided to make it special, and this wasn't going to ruin it for him.

Quietly migrating past Hagrid's hut, they found the cave where the Romuls stashed his brooms. Plotting a simple course, they left Hogwarts after sunset of New Year's Eve; arcing over the Forbidden Forest in an easy path down to a quiet alcove of Hogsmeade. The village was a panorama of lights, and everyone was as festive as could be imagined. Even the goblins were of a slightly more benevolent temperament, though that was most likely due to varying levels of intoxication.

Although most of the shops were closed, there were several street vendors selling all sorts of celebratory knick-knacks. Purchasing a pair of paper masks, they proceeded to mix with the crowd as much as they could before the noise and lights began to become overwhelming. As they neared the Hogs Head, they began to hear drumming and the sound of violins playing intricate strains. It took a few seconds before they realized that they had heard that music before. Nodding to each other, they began to make their way around the Hogs Head with great expectations.

However, as they turned the corner, they found themselves facing a tall man; dressed in black with straight white hair that was as long on him as Eric's was. "Good evening, children. Out a bit late, are we?"

Naomi subtly backed behind Eric, who was trying to take a measure of this new stranger. "It's New Years."

He smiled. "Indeed. A new year filled with hope, promise and portent. If I may be so bold, you're Eric Sable, aren't you?"

They started to back up towards the street. "How did you know?"

The tall man smiled. "You have a very distinct appearance. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Saurus Canun."

They were still too far away from the street to safely bolt for it. "Yes, well, if you'll excuse us..."

"I'm afraid not. I've been rather looking forward to speaking with you, on a matter of great importance." As he stepped forward, Eric felt a sensation of foreboding race up his spine. Somehow, he just knew that Saurus was a wizard of great power – one he did not wish to find himself alone with.

Unexpectedly, a raspy voice came out from the far end of the alley. "If you have business with the boy, you have business with all of us!" Looking past Saurus, Eric could see Grandmother Frona bathed in the light from a towering bonfire.

"Frona of Romul, it is so good to see you again." It was faint, but Eric could make out strain in the wizard's voice. There was no love lost between the two of them.

"Clear their path, old snake. We knew they were here and we called them: the children belong with our clan tonight." Her face was chiseled and set. The air prickled with tension.

The wizard seemed to grow before Eric's eyes, his body taking on a reddish aura. "Really, Frona? If I wanted to take them, do you really think you have the power to stop me?" His voice resounded against the walls around them.

Frona, however, smiled a crooked grin. "Foolish man, the strength of a Romul lies not in themselves, but in the clan!" At that, two figures came out to flank her. Eric made them out to be Kaneus and Fenris. At the same moment, four others blocked the other end of the alleyway, while a half-dozen more seemed to grow out of the surrounding walls. A low growl began to fill the alley, a sound which filled Eric with courage and confidence. Slowly and deliberately, he waved his cloak aside and drew his wand, taking up a dueling stance.

Saurus surveyed the situation. "I seem to have misjudged the situation. Another time, then." A swirl of crimson fire enveloped him then vanished.

The old woman stepped up to Eric and Naomi. "You are safe now. The boys will see you home safely when you leave us. For now, come to the fire – let us sing in the new year!"


	23. Chapter 23

Once the new term began, Professor Frugilagus called a meeting of his three students to go over what the next term would cover, and how the three of them would begin joint studies. Eric brought up the meeting with Saurus. "So, my old colleague has returned. How unfortunate."

"Unfortunate, sir?"

Corvin sat across from the group to explain. "Saurus was, like myself, an expert in the Dark Arts. However, his studies were directed less towards comprehension and defense and more towards actual application. He sought the same goals as Voldemort: power and immortality.

"While Voldemort was in power, he gathered a small but dedicated number of followers as well. They called themselves the Draconian Order. Unlike the Death Eaters, however, Saurus' followers had a more clever and cunning leader, who knew the best way to power was to take it from a weak opponent. Rather than to war against both the Ministry and Voldemort, Saurus chose to bide his time until the Death Eaters and the Ministry confronted each other in a final battle. Such an encounter would demolish one side while leaving the other too weak to repel a second attack from his forces.

"This, however, never happened. When Voldemort fell victim to Harry Potter, the Death Eaters broke apart without engaging the Ministry. As such, the Ministry never lost strength, and the Draconians chose to set aside their plans for domination until a future time when a new opportunity presented itself. At least one of the Draconians is a powerful prognosticator who saw that Voldemort would rise again."

Corvin stood and began pacing the room. "You see, Eric, most conflicts do not consist of simply two powers, and being a primary power does not mean that one cannot seize an opportunity. I have taken the opportunity to speak with Dumbledore at length. We have agreed that there is a new conflict coming. The primary war will be between the Death Eaters and those who oppose them directly, and Albus is seeing to that. However, if the Draconians are not tended to, they will strike in the same way as the Bolsheviks did during the Russian Revolution. They will wait until the revolutionaries and the establishment have finished decimating each other, then they will seize power for themselves. Albus has asked that we accept the responsibility for preventing this."

Corvin stopped his pacing and turned to them. "Now you know all about this that I do. If we are to continue, it is with the understanding that we are training for war. If you choose not to fight, your studies with me are at an end. I understand if you choose a safer path."

A few seconds passed before Sheena stood. "Nothing's safe, Professor. If there's going to be a fight, I want to be ready for it."

Eric stood next. "It looks like I'm in this war whether I like it or not. I might as well be prepared." Naomi said nothing; but she stood as well, taking Eric's hand.

Corvin nodded understandingly. "And you stand with those you care for; quite noble. Be sure to watch out for each other and remain vigilant. Watch the shadows for those who would ambush you, and be sure to keep our secrets. The enemy is near, and time grows short."


	24. Chapter 24

As the year progressed, Eric pursued his classes with renewed vigor. The fact that everything he had learned and was studying now has a reason gave him an intensity that he had never known before. Along with this was a sense that things had finally begun to settle into a sense of order. The snidgets were getting along fine and had, in fact, laid a small clutch of three eggs. The grades on his papers were mostly O's and E's, with Snape offering his lowest grade ('A'). The Peals sent word that their coffee shop was doing well, and Eric's owls were pleasantly occupied carrying correspondence between him and the Romuls.

As he set plans for the coming months, he felt a certain relief that he could. Now that he knew what to expect from Professor Frugilagus, he established a schedule that would allow him enough time to work properly on his essays. He considered his topic for potions extremely carefully, wanting nothing more desperately than to force Professor Snape to give him at least an 'E'. Deciding on a complete dissertation of how the parts of a Norwegian Ridgeback can be used in potion making, he set to his studies with vigor.

His afternoons, however, were given to more social efforts. He had missed spending time with Dorian, Neville, and the rest of his friends. The discussion sessions they had last year had fell apart over the summer, and the Tri-Wizard Tournament brought in too many distractions, between the event itself and the formation of the Interhouse Irregulars. While it was true that the quidditch practices gave them an opportunity to get together again, it still wasn't as much as the year before, and Dorian was getting bummed over it.

To make up to his friend, Eric made a point of setting up dueling practices. Dorian enjoyed them immensely, for although he didn't study the Dark Arts directly, he had a gift for jinxes and hexes that was unmatched. Eric found it difficult to match his friend, but Sheena's teaching helped. Naomi and Tylena participated regularly, mixing practice days and library study, seeking to develop new techniques. Neville also improved, but only slightly. As much as Eric wished that he could help Longbottom, he knew in his heart that Neville's problems were his own to sort out. Until he gained the drive necessary to excel, his inner talent would remain what it had always been: more of a stumbling block than a benefit.

Finally, when his circle of friends weren't busy trying to sharpen themselves against each other, they watched the tournament with a moderate amount of interest. They also made several visits to Hogsmeade for materials, breaks, and the chance to mingle with the locals. The village, at the moment, had swollen to twice it's normal size to hold all the observers, reporters, and migrants who had come to get first news of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

The advantage to this was the large amount of rumors that were milling about. The three of them took turns listening in at the Hogs Head for new information. Through months of gathering intelligence they learned that the Death Eaters were nervous, many of them fearing the return of their old master. Word of the Draconians was far less pervasive, except to say that they were gathering in secret to prepare for a coming conflict.

More than once the group caught sight of Saurus Canun. However, he never made an offensive move towards anyone, and would do little more than wink at Eric. Since the Ministry never learned about the Draconian Order or it's plans, it would have been pointless to accuse Saurus of anything. He was as free a citizen as anyone.

With all of this happening, it wasn't surprising that the months passed quickly. Soon it would be time for the final task of the Tournament. A final feast after that, then they could all go home to rest. However, the day before the task, Professor Frugilagus called his students together.

"All year you've been training for conflict. We now have a unique opportunity to use these talents." He paced the room. "Saurus Canun has been in Hogsmeade for the entire Tri-Wizard Tournament. I've been watching him carefully, for I believe that he has some nefarious purpose in mind. I don't know what it could be, but I am sure he intends to use the tournament as cover.

"However, Professor Dumbledore has also asked me to assist in guarding the Hogwarts grounds while the tournament is taking place. He seems certain that Voldemort or the Death Eaters will try to interfere with the final task, resulting in Harry Potter's injury or death. Now, I can't deal with Saurus and guard the Hogwarts grounds at the same time, so I'm leaving the second task to you. Divide up your talents as best you can and watch over the school while I confront Saurus."

Examining their resources, it was decided that Sheena would watch the main gate, and be their agent on the ground. Eric and Naomi would take brooms and patrol the school borders from overhead. Naomi would use the crystalline spell to reduce her chances of being seen. Eric, on the other hand, would depend on his broom's speed and agility to help him find discreet places quickly.

The time came for the tasks, and the three of them took to their jobs. As the time passed, Eric began to feel that the Professor and the Headmaster were mistaken. In order to get into Hogwarts, it would take at least half a dozen wizards. Any such gathering would be easy to spot, and a quick call would bring enough attention to stop any attackers.

It was this conclusion that caused him to relax his concentration. As such, he didn't see where the hex came from. However, he did feel it as it struck him squarely in the chest, knocking him off his broom and onto the ground. As he lay there stunned and confused, three cloaked and shrouded wizards gathered around him. "Are you sure he's the one?"

One drew out a stone; rose quartz, by the look of it. The wizard passed it in front of him, examining it closely as an inky-silver substance seemed to grow from within, ultimately giving the stone the shiny-black appearance of hematite. A feminine voice rose from within the cloak's hood. "He's the one. His bloodline is as dark as any I've seen."

A stronger male voice responded. "Excellent. The master will be pleased that we finally have the Dark Lord's spawn." Eric's limbs screamed in pain as they gathered him up in a gray blanket. "We'll cut over onto the main road after the bend. The Slytherin she-devil will never see us."

Eric tried everything he could to move again. Within a few minutes, he could feel his fingers and toes clench, but little more, for he could tell it was belted up.. He could see little from inside the blanket he was wrapped in, but once in a while a small flash of gold would zip into view, only to shoot away again. This happened four times before he was sure that it was one of the snidgets he was seeing.

He hoped that this meant something, but he couldn't imagine what. Time still passed and he was still stuck in his bindings, until there was a bright yellow flash. The wizard carrying him screamed, and Eric felt himself falling, ultimately landing on a twitching body. The sound of flying brooms and exchanged spells filled the air, then stopped. Eric felt himself being tumbled about before the belts were loosened and the cloth drawn away, revealing Naomi's unusually worried face. She locked him in a fierce embrace for several seconds before Sheena finally spoke. "Hey, hey! He's alright. Let's get these morons bound up before they wake up."

Looking about, he saw that his three co-workers were joined by Dorian and Tylena. He looked to Naomi as he pointed his thumb at them. Her reply was simple but honest. "We wanted to at least outnumber them."

Eric backed up to a tree, as his legs were still weak. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

Naomi looked about, then pointed to a small cluster of golden objects, currently zipping through the branches. "Them. You did know that snidget eyes have clairvoyant powers, right?"

Eric rubbed his head slightly. "I may have run across something about that."

She sighed. "Why do you think they were so valuable? Anything they see can be viewed by someone looking into them. They saw where you were shot down, and they kept following you, taking turns to make sure they didn't ultimately lose sight of you. That gave us enough time to get help."

As his captors started to wake, Sheena turned to them. "Ok, you scumballs – what's the big idea?"

One of the figures hissed at them. "As if you have any authority to question us."

Sheena stared back, grinning menacingly. "You've got us confused with the Ministry. As far as I'm concerned, abducting one of my friends gives me all the reason I need to tear your fingers off one at a time. The beauty is that once I'm finished, I get to dump your bodies into the Forbidden Forest. You'll be bones long before anybody's the wiser."

The voiced grumbled. "You have a point." At this, a loud cracking sound was heard, followed by the hissing of gas. Everyone jumped back from the prisoners as a purple cloud billowed from their cloaks, covering them all. Strangely, it didn't dissipate in the wind, swirling around the figures for several minutes before finally settling.

Sheena tore back the hood and mask of one prisoner. Blank, unfocused eyes stared back at her. "Aww nuts! Amneserum – and a powerful dose at that. We might as well give these guys to Professor Sprout."

She turned to Dorian. "Get a wagon, wheelbarrow or something. I'm not carrying these meatsacks back to the school."

Once they returned to the school, the group of them migrated to the dungeon rooms. Eric rested, frustrated yet again to find him languishing in a cot while his friends hovered around him. At least this time it was in the Erised Room, rather than the hospital wing. This kept the number of worried faces to a minimum.

Professor Frugilagus had returned and was informed of the days goings on. He, in turn, filled the group of students gathered in on the extremely unsettling developments that had come from the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Cedric Diggory was dead, Mad-Eye Moody was really an infiltrating Death Eater, Voldemort was restored, and the Ministry was in denial.

Eric turned to the Professor. "I don't understand, sir – why won't the Ministry accept the possibility that, well, he's back?"

"There are a few possibilities, but I'd like to think that the reason is the least malevolent of them. Put simply, Cornelius Fudge doesn't want his neat little world to be upset with another wizard war. They were not able to deal with Voldemort effectively the first time, and there's no reason to expect any better from them now. In order to deal with such a threat, Fudge would have allow a more effective leader than himself to rise to the occasion. Fearing what that would mean to his career, he'd rather deny the whole thing."

Corvin then turned his attention to Dorian and Tylena. "Now, here we have a special problem. You two now know our secret. Whatever shall we do with you?" They looked at each other anxiously while the professor paused. "Well, there are many ways to deal with such a matter. My favorite, if you are so inclined, is to make you as culpable as we are."

He drew himself up grandly. "Dorian Moon and Tylena Vrye: I am Corvin Frugilagus - Professor of Alternative Studies. A course series you will be entering next year."

The two of them looked at each other with shocked expressions. Finally, Dorian turned back to the Professor. "Thank you, sir!"

"Don't thank me. The knowledge I teach comes with a great deal of responsibility. You may soon regret joining our number, but I can't see a more appropriate way out of this situation." He walked across the room towards the exit. "I will make the arrangements with Professor Dumbledore. Eric will inform you of the materials you will need for the course."


	25. Chapter 25

As the Hogwarts Express raced back to London, Eric sat with his friends in an odd atmosphere of quiet. Eric had finally relented to bringing Evelyn out again so that she could see the group of them together. Perhaps then she'd accept Eric's friends, and they could be on speaking terms again.

They were halfway through the trip when Dorian finally broke the silence. "Do you think it's all real? I mean, _his_ being back and all?"

Eric looked up. "Dumbledore seemed convinced. Thankfully, that's not our problem."

Tylena looked over to them. "But won't it be? I mean, if _he_ gains strength again, it threatens us all."

Naomi's voice chimed in. "That's for the Headmaster to work out. We're being trained to defend the other fronts. Hopefully, they won't be so dangerous. Besides, it's not like we have to destroy the Draconians. We just need to keep them weak enough that they don't challenge the system."

Dorian looked back at her. "What if _he_ wins?"

Eric chose to answer him. "Then it'd be good to keep the Draconians near – we'll need allies to overthrow him."

As the train pulled into the station, the group gathered their belongings. Getting off of the train, Eric turned to Naomi. "See you soon?"

She drew him aside. "I have to check into a few things. If I'm right, this is going to be the best summer I've had in years."

They stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. They knew what was going to happen next, but neither of them were sure what to do. Eventually they fumbled their way into kissing. It was brief and awkward, and hardly the magical moment that movies and books made it out to be. However, what they felt more than anything was what they felt for each other. That made it right.

Eric made his way to a deserted part of the platform, there turning to Evelyn. "Well?"

She shook her head. "I can't approve, Eric. She's been raised as a muggle, and she's got way too many problems. You deserve so much more than that."

He felt his jaw tighten. "Evelyn, I love her."

She looked about, then seemed to sigh. "Well, we'll see. Maybe it is for the best."

He repressed a smile, not wishing to hurt her feelings by celebrating. "You'll see. She really is special." He shared a quiet moment with her, gathering his wits before going after his belongings.


End file.
